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A  UTHOR: 


MCCABE,  JOSEPH 


TITLE: 


PETER  ABELARD 


PLACE: 


NEW  YORK 


DA  TE: 


[1901] 


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McCabe,  Joseph,  ]8()7- 


IMor  Ahrlard,  by  Josc^ph  McCabo  ... 
London,  G.  l\  l^itnani's  sons,  1901. 

ix,  402  p.    21*''". 

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By 


Joseph   McCabe 

Author  of  *•  Twelve  Years  in  a  Monastery,"  etc. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

Hbe  •Rntcherbocfter  press 
1901 


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I 


I 


Copyright,  June,  iqot 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

Set  up  and  clectrotyped  September,  igoi 
Reprinted  November,  1901 


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tlbe  finiclterboclier  ^rcM»  Hew  Vorft 


/ 


Preface 

TTHE  author  does  not  think  it  necessary  to 
*  offer  any  apology  for  having  written  a 
life  of  Abelard.  The  intense  dramatic  inter- 
est of  his  life  is  known  from  a  number  of 
brief  notices  and  sketches,  but  English 
readers  have  no  complete  presentation  of 
the  facts  of  that  remarkable  career  in  our 
own  tongue.  The  History  ofAbailard  of 
Mr.  Berington,  dating  from  the  eighteenth 
century,  is  no  longer  adequate  or  useful. 
Many  French  and  German  scholars  have 
rewritten  Ab^lard's  life  in  the  light  of  recent 
knowledge  and  feeling,  but,  beyond  the 
short  sketches  to  be  found  in  Compayre, 
Poole,  Rashdall,  Cotter  Morison,  and  others, 
no  English  writer  of  the  nineteenth  century 
has  given  us  a  complete  study  of  this  unique 
and  much  misunderstood  personality. 
Perhaps  one  who  has  also  had  a  monastic^ 


HI 


IV 


Preface 


scholastic,  and  ecclesiastical  experience  may 
approach  the  task  with  a  certain  confidence. 
In  the  matter  of  positive  information  the 
last  century  has  added  little  directly  to  the 
story  of  Ab^lard's  life.  Indirectly,  however, 
modern  research  has  necessarily  helped  to 
complete  the  picture  ;  and  modern  feeling, 
modern  humanism,  reinterprets  much  of  the 
story. 

Since  the  work  is  intended  for  a  circle  of 
readers  who  cannot  be  assumed  to  have  a 
previous  acquaintance  with  the  authorities 
who  are  cited  here  and  there,  it  is  necessary  i 
to  indicate  their  several  positions  in  advance.  ( 
The  chief  sources  of  the  story  are  the  letters 
of  Ab^lard  and  Heloise.  The  first  letter  of 
the  series,  entitled  the  Story  of  my  Calam- 
ities, is  an  autobiographical  sketch,  cover- 
ing the  first  fifty  years  of  Ab^lard's  life.  To 
these  must  be  added  the  letters  of  St.  Ber- 
nard, Abbot  of  Clairvaux  ;  of  Peter  the  Ven- 
erable, Abbot  of  Cluny  ;  of  Jean  Roscelin, 
Canon  of  Compi^gne,  Ab^lard's  early  teacher; 
and  of  Pulques  of  Deuil,  a  contemporary 
monk.    A  number  of  Latin  works  written 


? 


Preface  v 

shortly  after  Abelard's  death  complete,  or 
complicate,  the  narrative.    The  principal  of 
these  are  :  the  Vita  Beati  Bernardi,  written 
by  his  monk-secretary  ;  the  Vita  Beati  Gos- 
wini,  by  two  monks  of  the  period  ;  the  De 
gestisFredericil.  of  a  Cistercian  bishop,  Otto 
of  Freising;  the  Metalogicus  and  the  Historia 
Pontificalis  of  John  of  Salisbury ;  and  the 
Vita  Ludovid  Grossi  and  De  rebus  a  se  gestis 
of  Suger,  Abbot  of  St.  Denis,  and  first  royal 
councillor.    Many  of  the  chronicles  of  the 
twelfth  century  also  contain  brief  references. 
Chief  amongst  the  later  French  historians 
is  Du  Boulai  with  his  Historia  Universitatis 
Parisiensis —"  the  most  stupid  man  who 
ever  wrote  a  valuable  book,"  says  Mr.  R.  L. 
Poole.     Amongst  other  French  chroniclers 
of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries 
we  may  mention :  De  Launoy  (De  scholis 
celehrioribus),    Dubois    {Historia   Ecdesice 
Parisiensis),  Lobineau  (Histoire  deBretagne), 
F61ibien  (Histoire  de  I'abbaye  de  Saint  Denys 
and  Histoire  de  la  ville  de  Paris),  Longueval 
(^Histoire  de  V  Eglise  GalUcane),  Tarb6  (Re- 
cherches  historiques  sur  la  ville  deSens),  and, 


VI 


Preface 


Preface 


Vll 


of  course,  the  Histoire  litteraire  de  la  France, 
Gallia  Christiana,  and  ecclesiastical  histori- 
ans generally. 

A  large  number  of  ''lives"  of  AWlard 
have  been  founded  on  these  documents.  In 
French  we  have  La  vie  de  P.  Abelard  of  Ger- 
vaise,  a  monkish  admirer  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  far  from  ascetic  in  temper,  but  much 
addicted  to  imaginative  description  ;  the 
historical  essay  of  Mme.  and  M.  Guizot, 
prefixed  to  M.  OddouFs  translation  of  the 
letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise  ;  the  Abelard 
of  M.  Remusat,  pronounced  by  Sainte-Beuve 
himself  to  be  '*  un  chef  d'oeuvre  "  ;  and  the 
Lettres  Completes  of  M.  Greard,  with  a  help- 
ful introduction.  In  German,  Reuter  chiefly 
discusses  Abelard  as  a  thinker  in  his  Ge- 
schichte  der  religiosen  Entkldrung;  Deutsch 
is  mainly  preoccupied  with  his  theology  in 
his  Peter  Abdlard,  but  gives  an  exhaustive 
study  of  the  last  years  of  his  life  in  Aba  lard's 
yerurtheilung  :{u  Sens ;  Neander  discusses 
him  in  his  Heilige  Bernhard ;  and  Hausrath 
offers  the  most  complete  and  authorative 
study  of  his  career  and  character  in  his  recent 


I 


\ 


Peter  Abdlard,  In  English  we  have,  as  I 
said,  the  eighteenth-century  work  of  Bering- 
ton,  a  small  fantastic  American  version  (quite 
valueless),  and  the  more  or  less  lengthy 
studies  of  Abelard  found  in  Rashdall's  fine 
Universities  of  Europe,  Cotter  Morison's  Life 
and  Times  of  St.  Bernard  (scarcely  a  judicious 
sketch),  Compayr^'s  Abelard  and  the  Uni- 
versities (in  which  the  biography  is  rather 
condensed),  Roger  Vaughan's  Life  of  St. 
Thomas  of  Aquin,  and  Mr.  R.  L.  Poole's 
Illustrations  of  the  History  of  Mediceval 
Thought  (from  whom  we  may  regret  we 
have  not  received  a  complete  study  of 
Abelard). 

January  31,  1901. 


i 


I 


Contents 

CHAPTER 

I. — The  Quest  of  Minerva   . 
II.— A  Brilliant  Victory 

III. — Progress  of  the  Academic  War 

IV. — The  Idol  of  Paris  .... 

v.— Dead-Sea  Fruit      .... 

VI. — The  Monk  of  St.  Denis  . 
VII. — The  Trial  of  a  Heretic  . 
VIII. — Cloud  UPON  Cloud  . 

IX. — Back  to  Champagne       .       . 

X. — The  Trials  of  an  Abbot. 

XI. — The  Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise 
XII. — A  Return  to  the  Arena. 
XIII. — The  Final  Blow     .... 

XIV.— CONSUMMATUM  EsT  .... 

XV. — The  Influence  of  Abelard 

Index 


I 


PAGE 
I 

20 

47 

73 
no 

142 

167 
186 
207 
231 
257 
289 

354 
376 

397 


u 


t 


Peter  Abelard 


Chapter  I 

The  Quest  of  Minerva 

PETER  ABELARD  was  born  towards  the 
close  of  the  eleventh  century.  No 
other  personality  that  we  may  choose  to 
study  leads  to  so  clear  and  true  an  insight 
into  those  strange  days  as  does  that  of  the 
luckless  Breton  philosopher.  It  was  the 
time  of  transition  from  the  darkest  hour  of 
mediaeval  Europe  to  a  period  of  both  moral 
and  intellectual  brilliance.  The  gloom  of 
the  *'  century  of  iron  "  still  lay  on  the  land, 
but  it  was  already  touched  with  the  faint, 
spreading  dawn  of  a  new  idealism.  There 
is,  amongst  historians,  a  speculation  to  the 
effect  that  the  year  looo  of  the  Christian  era 


Peter  Abelard 


marked  a  real  and  very  definite  stage  in  the 
history  of  thought.  Usually  we  do  vio- 
lence to  events  by  our  chronological  de- 
marcations ;  but  it  is  said  that  Christendom 
confidently  expected  the  threatened  rolling- 
up  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth  to  take  place 
in  the  year  looo.  Slowly,  very  slowly,  the 
sun  crept  over  the  dial  of  the  heavens  before 
the  eyes  of  idle  men.  But  no  Christ  rode 
on  the  clouds,  and  no  antichrist  came  into 
the  cities.  And  the  heaviness  was  lifted 
from  the  breasts  of  men,  and  the  blood 
danced  merrily  in  their  veins  once  more. 
They  began  again  ''  to  feel  the  joy  of  exist- 
ence,'' as  an  old  writer  has  it,  and  to  build 
up  their  towers  afresh  in  the  sunlight. 

It  was  a  strangely  chequered  period,  this 
that  changed  the  darkness  of  the  tenth  into 
the  comparative  radiance  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  All  life  was  overcast  by  densest 
ignorance  and  grossest  lust  and  fiercest  vio- ' 
lence,  the  scarcely  altered  features  of  the 
''converted"  northern  barbarians;  yet  the 
light  of  an  ideal  was  breaking  through,  in 
the  pure  atmosphere  of  reformed  monas- 


The  Quest  of  Minerva  3 

teries,  in  the  lives  of  saintly  prelates  and 
women  refined  beyond  their  age,  and  in  the 
intellectual  gospel  of  a  small  band  of  thinkers 
and  teachers.  Amid  the  general  degradation 
of  the  Church  and  the  cloister  strong  souls 
had  arisen,  ardent  with  a  contagious  fire  of 
purity.  High-minded  prelates  had  some- 
how attained  power,  in  spite  of  the  net  of 
simony  and  corruption.  The  sons  of  St. 
Benedict,  rising  and  falling  too  often  with 
the  common  tide,  had,  nevertheless,  guarded 
some  treasures  of  the  earlier  wisdom,  and 
shared  them  lovingly  at  their  gates  with  the 
wandering  scholar.  Thousands  there  were 
who  could  close  heart  and  home  at  the  fiery 
word  of  a  preacher,  and  go  to  starve  their 
souls  in  the  living  tomb  of  a  monastery. 
Thousands  could  cast  down  their  spades  and 
their  wine-cups,  and  rush  to  meet  death  in 
the  trail  of  a  frenzied  hermit.'  They  were 
the  days  of  the  travail  of  the  spirit ;  and 

»  I  am  thinking,  of  course,  of  the  thousands  of  simple  folk  who 
rushed  blindfold  into  the  fatal  procession  towards  Jerusalem,  setting 
their  children  on  their  rude  carts,  and  asking  naively,  at  each  tower 
that  came  in  sight  in  their  own  France,  if  that  was  the  Holy  City; 
those  whose  bones  marked  the  path  to  Palestine  for  later  Crusaders. 


Peter  Abelard 


they  rise  before  us  in  arresting  vision  when 
we  look  into  the  life  of  Peter  Abelard. 

That  life  begins  some  day  in  the  last 
decade  of  the  eleventh  century,  when  the 
young  Breton,  then  in  his  fifteenth  or  six- 
teenth year,  went  out  from  his  father's  castle 
into  the  bright  world  on  the  quest  of  Minerva. 
Of  his  earlier  years  we  know  nothing.  Later 
fancy  has  brooded  over  them  to  some  pur- 
pose, it  is  true,  if  there  are  any  whom  such 
things  interest.  The  usual  unusual  events 
were  observed  before  and  after  his  birth, 
and  the  immortal  swarm  of  bees  that  has 
come  down  the  ages,  kissing  the  infant  lips 
of  poets  and  philosophers,  did  not  fail  to 
appear  at  Pallet.  In  point  of  sober  fact,  we 
rely  almost  exclusively  on  Abelard 's  autobio- 
graphy for  the  details  of  his  earlier  career, 
and  he  tells  us  nothing  of  his  childhood, 
and  not  much  of  his  youth.  It  matters  little. 
The  life  of  a  soul  begins  when  it  looks  be- 
yond the  thoughts  of  parents  and  teachers 

As  to  the  professional  warriors,  there  is  surely  more  humour  than  aught 
else  in  the  picture  of  the  King  of  France  and  his  like  setting  forth  to 
"  do  penance  "  for  their  vice  and  violence  by  a  few  months  of  advent- 
ure, carnage,  and  pillage. 


The  Quest  of  Minerva  5 

— if  it  ever  do — out  into  the  defiant  world, 
and  frames  a  view  and  a  purpose. 

The  home  from  which  Abelard  issued, 
somewhere  about  the  year  1095,  was  an 
ancient  castle  at  Pallet,  in  Brittany,  about 
eleven  miles  to  the  south-east  of  Nantes. 
At  the  end  of  the  village,  which  was  threaded 
on  the  highroad  from  Nantes  to  Poitiers,  a 
steep  eminence  dominated  the  narrow  flood 
of  the  Sangudze.  The  castle  was  built  on 
this :  overlooking  the  village  more,  as  it 
chanced,  in  a  spirit  of  friendly  care  than  of 
haughty  menace.  The  spot  is  still  visited 
by  many  a  pilgrim— not  with  a  priestly 
benediction  ;  but  the  castle  is  now  the  mere 
relic  of  a  ruin.  In  the  most  penetrating 
movements  of  his  prophetic  genius,  Abelard 
never  foresaw  the  revolt  of  the  serfs,  or  in- 
deed any  economic  development.  In  this 
one  respect  he  failed  to  detect  and  outstrip 
what  little  advance  was  made  in  his  day. 
His  father's  castle  has  disappeared  with  the 
age  it  belonged  to,  and  the  sons  of  his  vas- 
sals now  lay  the  bones  of  their  dead  to  rest 
on  his  desolated  hearth. 


Peter  Abelard 


B^renger,  the  father,  was  a  noble  of  a  rare 
type.  He  had  fortunately  received  a  little 
culture  before  setting  out  in  the  service  of 
Hoel  IV.,  Duke  of  Brittany  and  Count  of 
Nantes,  and  he  in  turn  communicated  his 
taste  and  his  knowledge  to  his  children. 
From  the  fact,  too,  that  he  and  his  wife  Lucia 
adopted  the  monastic  life  a  few  years  after 
Abelard's  departure,  we  may  gather  that  they 
were  also  above  the  moral  level  of  their  class. 
It  is  not  idle  to  note  that  Ab^lard's  mind  en- 
countered no  evil  or  irreligious  influences 
when  it  first  opened.  All  the  circumstances 
that  are  known  to  us  suggest  a  gentle,  up- 
lifting, and  reverential  education.  He  was 
the  eldest  of  the  sons  of  Berenger;  and, 
partly,  no  doubt,  because  greater  care  had 
been  taken  with  his  education,  partly  in  the 
necessary  consciousness  of  mental  power, 
he  early  determined  to  leave  home,  and 
wander  over  the  land  in  search  of  learning. 
His  words  give  one  the  impression  that  he 
shouldered  a  wallet,  and  sallied  forth  alone, 
after  the  adventurous  fashion  of  the  day. 
However  that  may  be,  he  says  that  he 


I 


The  Quest  of  Minerva  7 

resolved  to  leave  the  chances  of  the  favour  of 
Mars  to  his  brothers,  and  set  out  to  woo  the 
gentler  Minerva.  Abandoning  the  rights  of 
primogeniture  and  the  possible  grace  of 
kings,  he  passed  away  from  the  great  castle, 
and  turned  eagerly  in  the  direction  of  the 
nearest  school. 

It  was  not  uncommon  in  those  '*  Dark 
Ages  "  for  a  young  noble  to  resign  the  com- 
fort of  the  chateau  and  the  glamour  of  a 
courtly  life  in  this  way.  The  scholastic 
fever,  which  was  soon  to  inflame  the  youth 
of  the  whole  of  Europe,  had  already  set  in. 
You  could  not  travel  far  over  the  rough  roads 
of  France  without  meeting  some  footsore 
scholar,  making  for  the  nearest  large  mona- 
stery or  episcopal  town.  Before  many  years, 
it  is  true,  there  was  a  change,  as  the  keen- 
eyed  Jew  watched  the  progress  of  the  fever. 
There  arose  an  elaborate  system  of  convey- 
ance from  town  to  town,  an  organisation 
of  messengers  to  run  between  the  chateau 
and  the  school,  a  smiling  group  of  banks 
and  bankers.  But  in  the  earlier  days,  and, 
to  some   extent,   even    later,  the  scholar 


I 


8 


Peter  Ab^lard 


wandered  afoot  through  the  long  provinces 
of  France.     Here  and  there  a  noble  or  a 
wealthy  merchant  would  fly  past  in  his 
silks  and  furs,  with  a  body-guard  of  a  dozen 
stout  fellows ;  or  a  poor  clerk  would  jog 
along  on  his  ass,  looking  anxiously  towards 
each  wood  or  rock  that  bordered  the  road 
ahead.    Robbers,  frequently  in  the  service 
of  the  lord  of  the  land,  infested  every  pro- 
vince.   It  was  safest  to  don  the  coarse  frieze 
tunic  of  the  pilgrim,  without  pockets,  sling 
your  little  wax  tablets  and  style  at  your 
girdle,  strap  a  wallet  of  bread  and  herbs  and 
salt  on  your  back,  and  laugh  at  the  nervous 
folk  who  peeped  out  from  their  coaches  over 
a  hedge  of  pikes  and  daggers.    Few  monas- 
teries refused  a  meal  or  a  rough  bed  to  the 
wandering  scholar.    Rarely  was  any  fee  ex- 
acted for  the  lesson  given.    For  the  rest, 
none  were  too  proud  to  earn  a  few  sous  by 
sweeping,  or  drawing  water,  or  amusing 
with  a  tune  on  the  reed-flute  ;  or  to  wear 
the  cast-ofif  tunics  of  their  masters. 

It  is  fitting  that  we  should  first  find  little 
Pierre  —  Master  Roscelin  recalls  him  in  later 


The  Quest  of  Minerva  9 

years  as  "  the  smallest  of  my  pupils  " —un- 
der the  care  of  a  rationalist  scholar.  Love 
was  the  first  rock  on  which  the  fair  promise 
of  his  early  manhood  was  shattered,  but 
throughout  the  long,  sternly  religious  years 
that  followed,  it  was  his  restless  application 
of  reason  to  the  veiled  dogmas  of  faith  that 
brought  endless  cruelty  and  humiliation 
upon  him.  Now,  Jean  Roscelin,  Canon  of 
Compidgne,  was  the  rationalist  of  his  day. 
As  Ab^lard  was  fated  to  do,  he  had  at- 
tempted to  unveil  the  super-sacred  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity  ;  not  in  the  spirit  of  irreverent 
conceit,  with  which  people  credited  both 
him  and  Ab^lard,  but  for  the  help  of  those 
who  were  afflicted  with  a  keen  intellect  and 
an  honest  heart.  For  this  he  had  been 
banished  from  England  in  1093,  and  from 
the  kingdom  of  France,  and  had  settled  in 
one  or  other  of  the  Gaulish  provinces. 

IVlme.  Guizot,  in  her  very  careful  study  of 
Ab^lard,  sees  no  evidence  for  the  statement 
that  he  studied  under  Roscelin,  but  the  fact 
is  now  beyond  dispute.  Otto  von  Freising, 
a  contemporary  historian,  says  that  he  "  had 


lO 


Peter  Abdlard 


Roscelin  for  his  first  master";  Aventinus 
and  others  also  speak  of  Roscelin  as  an  early 
teacher  of  his.    Roscelin  himself,  in  a  letter 
which  it  seems   "frivolous,"  as  Deutsch 
says,  to  hesitate  to  accept,   claims   that 
Ab^lard  sat  at  his  feet  —  it  was  the  literal 
practice  in  those  days—  "  from  boyhood  to 
youth. "    Abelard,  on  the  other  hand,  writes 
that  he  attended  Roscelin's  lectures  "  for  a 
short  time  "  ;  but  this  correspondence  took 
place  at  a  moment  when  the  one  would  be 
greatly  disposed   to   exaggerate   and   the 
other  to  attenuate.     An  anonymous  anec- 
dote, which  we  shall  examine  presently, 
pretends  that  he  found  Roscelin  unsatisfact- 
ory, but  "  controlled  his  feeling  so  far  as  to 
remain  under  Roscelin  for  a  year."    It  is 
clear  enough  that  he  spent  a  few  of  his 
earlier  years  on  the  hay-strewn  floor  of 
Master  Roscelin's  lecture-hall. 

There  is  some  uncertainty  as  to  the  local- 
ity, but  a  sufficient  indication  to  impart  an 
interest  to  the  question.  Roscelin  says 
it  was  at  the  Locensis  ecdesia  This  is 
easily  understood  if  we  interpret  it  to  mean 


The  Quest  of  Minerva 


II 


the  monastery  of  Locmenach  ^  in  Brittany. 
The  monks  of  St.  Gildas,  on  the  coast  of 
Brittany,  a  wild  band  whose  closer  acquaint- 
ance we  shall  make  later  on,  had  established 
a  branch  monastery  at  Locmenach.  As  will 
appear  in  due  time,  they  would  be  likely 
to  have  small  scruple  about  increasing  its 
revenue  by  erecting  a  chair  for  one  of  the 
most  famous  dialecticians  in  Christendom, 
in  spite  of  his  condemnation  for  heresy  at 
London  and  Soissons.  We  have  no  special 
information  about  the  manner  of  school-life 
at  Locmenach,  save  that  we  know  the 
monks  of  St.  Gildas  to  have  been  the  living 
antithesis  to  the  good  monks  of  Bee  ;  but 
it  is  interesting  to  find  Abelard  studying 
dialectics  under  a  famous  rationalist,  and  in  a 
monastery  that  was  subject  to  the  abbey  of 
St.  Gildas  of  Rhuys.  The  dark  pages  of 
his  later  history  will  give  point  to  the  dual 
circumstance. 

There  is  one  other,  and  less  reliable,  ac- 
count of  Abelard  in  his  school-days.    In  an 

'  Locmenach =/oi;«s  monachorum,  "  the  place  of  the  monks." 
The  older  name  was  Moriacum.  It  is  now  called  Locmine,  and  lies  a 
few  miles  to  the  east  of  Vannes. 


i"^ 


12 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Quest  of  Minerva 


13 


llf 


anecdote  which  is  found  in  one  or  two 
older  writers,  and  on  the  margin  of  an  old 
AWlard  manuscript,   it  is  stated  that  he 
studied  mathematics  under  a  certain  Master 
Tirricus.    The  anecdote  is  generally  rejected 
as  valueless,  on  the  ground  that  it  contains 
clear  trace  of  the  work  of  a  ''  constructive 
imagination  ";  but  Mr.  Poole  points  out  that 
*'  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt "  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  substance  of  the  narrative,  and 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  fictional  element 
may  be  reduced  to  a  very  slender  quantity. 
The  story  runs  that  Tirric,  or  Theodoric, 
one  day  found  Abelard  shedding  tears  of 
fruitless  perspiration  over  mathematical  pro- 
blems.   He  had  already,  it  is  said,  mastered 
the  higher  branches  of  knowledge,  and  was 
even  teaching,  but  had  omitted  mathemat- 
ics, and  was  endeavouring  to  remedy  the 
omission  by  taking  private  lessons  from 
Tirric.     Noting  his   effort,   the  master  is 
represented  to  say:  ''What  more  can  the 
sated  dog  do  than  lick  the  bacon  ?"   **To 
lick  the  bacon''  is,  in  the  crude  Latinity 
of  the  age,  bajare  lardum,  and  the  story 


pretends  the  phrase  afforded  a  nickname 
for  Pierre  (Bajolard  or  Baiolard),  and  was 
eventually  rounded  into  Abelard  or  Abailard. 
The  construction  is  so  crude,  and  the  pro- 
bability that  Abelard  is  a  surname  needing 
no  legendary  interpretation  is  so  high,  that 
the  whole  anecdote  is  often  contemptu- 
ously rejected.  It  is  surely  much  more 
reasonable  to  read  the  phrase  as  a  pun  on 
Abelard's  name,  which  some  later  writer, 
to  whom  the  name  was  unfamiliar,  has 
taken  in  a  constructive  sense.  ^ 

There  are  several  good  reasons  for  retain- 
ing the  historical  framework  of  the  anecdote. 
It  is  a  fact  that  Abelard  never  mastered 
mathematics  ;  chancing  to  mention  arithe- 
metic  in  one  of  his  works,  he  says :  '*  Of  that 
art  I  confess  myself  wholly  ignorant."  It 
was  unfortunate  for  mathematics.  Most  pro- 

*  The  name  occurs  in  a  dozen  different  forms  in  the  ancient  records. 
I  adopt  the  form  which  is  generally  used  by  modem  French  writers. 
D' Argentre  and  other  historians  of  Brittany  say  that  it  was  not  unknown 
about  Nantes  in  those  days.  We  must  remember  that  it  was  the 
period  when  nicknames,  trade-names,  etc.,  were  passing  into  sur- 
names. Another  pun  on  the  name,  which  greatly  tickled  the  mediaeval 
imagination,  was  "  Aboilar,"  supposed  to  convey  the  idea  that  he  was 
a  dog  who  barks  at  heaven  {ahoie  le  del).  It  was  perpetrated  by 
Hugo  Metellus,  a  rival  master. 


H 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


HI  ■ 


I  f 


bably  the  puerility  of  that  liberal  art,  in  its 
early  mediaeval  form,  repelled  him.    'in  the 
next  place,  there  was  a  distinguished  master 
living  m  France  of  the  name  of  Tirric   or 
Theodoric,    who  is  said  to  have  had  a 
leaning  to  mathematics.    He  taught  in  the 
episcopal  school  at  Chartres,  long  famous 
for  the   lectures  of  his  brother   Bernard 
Fmally,  a  Master  Tirric  (presumably  the 
same)  turns  up  at  Ab^lard's  trial  in  1121 
and  boldly  and  caustically  scourges  papa! 
legate  and  bishops  alike.    However,  if  we 
attribute  so  much  authority  to  the  story  it 
clearly  refers  to  a  later  date.    The  picture 
of  Abelard,  already  a  teacher,  sated  with 
knowledge,  coming  -in  private^'  to  repair 
an  omission  in  the  course  of  his  studies 
must  be  relegated  to  one  of  the  intervals 
in  his  teaching  at  Paris,  not,  as  Mr.  Poole 
thinks,  to  the  period  between  leaving  Ros- 
celin  and  arriving  at  Paris. 
^^  Abelard  himself  merely   says    that   he 
went  wherever  dialectics  flourished."  For 
five  or  SIX  years  he  wandered  from  school 
to  school,  drawn  onward  continually  by 


The  Quest  of  Minerva 


15 


the  fame  of  schools  and  of  masters.  Schools 
were  plentiful,  and  the  age  was  already 
rich  in  great  teachers.  Charlemagne  had 
inaugurated  the  scholastic  age  two  hundred 
years  before  with  the  founding  of  the  Palace 
School,  and  had  directed  that  every  monas- 
tery and  every  episcopal  town  should  give 
instruction.  With  periods  of  languor  the 
Benedictines  had  sustained  the  scholastic 
tradition  through  the  soulless  age  that  fol- 
lowed, and  the  second  half  of  the  eleventh 
century  saw  a  brisk  development.  There 
was  the  great  abbey  of  Bee,  in  Normandy, 
where  St.  Anselm  still  detained  crowds  of 
pupils  after  the  departure  of  Lanfranc. 
But  at  Bee  the  students  were  not  part  of 
a  ''great  undisciplined  horde,''  as  Rashdall 
calls  the  students  of  the  early  Middle  Ages. 
With  its  careful  regulations,  its  bare-back 
castigations,  its  expurgated  classics,  and  its 
ever  watchful  monks,  it  contrived  at  once  to 
cultivate  the  mind  (in  moderation)  and  to 
guard  the  sanctity  of  faith  and  morals. 
Cluny,  in  the  south,  had  a  similar  school 
at  its  gates,  and  the  same  control  of  the 


i6 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Quest  of  Minerva 


17 


scholars  it  lodged  and  fed.  St.  Denis, 
near  Paris,  had  another  famous  Benedictine 
school.  The  forty  monasteries  that  William 
of  Dijon  had  recently  reformed  had  opened 
free  schools  for  the  wandering  pupils,  and 
even  fed  the  poorer  youths. 

Then  there  were  men  of  European  fame 
teaching  in  the  cathedral  cloisters  of  the 
larger  towns.    At  Chartres,  good  Bishop 
Ivo— the  only  lawyer  who  ever  lived  and 
died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity— had  spent 
much  energy  in   the  improvement  of  his 
school.    Little  John,  or  John  of  Salisbury, 
has  left  us  a  proud  record  of  its  life  at  a 
slightly  later  date,  when   Tirric   and  his 
brother  Bernard  presided  over  it.    At  Tour- 
nai.  Master  Eudes  of  Orleans,  the  peripatetic 
of  the  time,  walked  the  cloisters  all  day 
with  his  questioning  scholars,  and  gathered 
them  before  the  cathedral  door  of  an  evening 
to  explain  the  profound  mysteries  of  the 
solid  spheres  that  whirled  overhead,  and  of 
the  tiny,  immortal  fires  that  were  set  in 
them.   Other  famous  episcopal  schools  were 
those  of  Tours,  Rheims,  Angers,  and  Laon. 


But  every  bishop  had  his  master  or  masters 
for  the  teaching  of  grammar,  rhetoric,  and 
dialectics  (the  trivium),  and  in  the  larger 
towns  were  "lectors"  of  the  other  four 
liberal  arts  (the  quadrivmm),  music,  geo- 
metry, arithmetic,  and  astronomy.  Theo- 
logy was  taught  under  the  watchful  eye  of 
the  bishop  and  his  chapter,  and  in  time 
chairs  of  Hebrew,  and,  with  the  progress  of 
the  Saracenic  invasion  of  the  intellectual 
world,  even  of  Arabic,  were  founded.  At 
the  abbey  of  St.  Denis,  monk  Baldwin, 
sometime  physician  to  the  King  of  England, 
taught  and  practised  the  art  of  healing.  At 
Chartres,  also,  medicine  was  taught  some- 
what later ;  and  there  are  stories  of  teachers 
of  law.  And,  beside  all  these,  there  were 
the  private  masters,  "coaches,"  etc.,  who 
opened  schools  wherever  any  number  of 
scholars  forgathered. 

Thus  the  historical  imagination  can  readily 
picture  all  that  is  contained  in  the  brief 
phrase  with  which  Abelard  dismisses  the 
five  or  six  years  of  his  studies.  "  There 
was  no  regular  curriculum  in  those  days," 


i8 


Peter  Abelard 


Mr.  Rashdall  says,  in  his  study  of  the  Uni- 
versities of  Europe ;  but  the  seven  liberal 
arts  were  taught,  and  were  gradually  ar- 
ranging themselves  in  a  series  under  the 
pressure  of  circumstances.    Music  Abelard 
certainly  studied ;   before  many  years  his 
songs  were  sung  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  France.    None  of  his  contemp- 
oraries made  a  more  eager  and  profitable 
study  of  what  was  called  grammar-that  is 
not  merely  an  exercise  in  the  rules  of  Do- 
natus  and  Priscian,  but  a  close  acquaintance 
with  the  great  Latin  poets  and  historians 
Rhetoric  and  dialectics  he  revelled  in  — 
"  f  went  wherever  dialectics  flourished  " 
To  so  good  purpose  did  he  advance  in 
this  work  of  loosening  the  tongue  and 
sharpening  the  wit,  that  throughout  his 
^fe  the  proudest  orators  and  thinkers  of 
Christendom  shrank  in  dismay  from  the 
thought  of  a  verbal  encounter  with  him 
I  am  a  child  beside  him."  pleaded  Ber- 
nard of  Clairvaux,  at  a  time  when  France 
and  even  Rome,  trembled  at  the  sound  of 
his  own  voice.    But  we  must  defer  for  a 


't, 


The  Quest  of  Minerva 


19 


few  pages  the  consideration  of  mediaeval 
dialectics. 

"  Illi  soli  patuit  quicquid  scibile  erat," 

said  an  ancient "e^lapfi^;  and,  though  the 
historian  handles  epigrams  with  discretion, 
it  must  be  admitted  that  Abelard  surpassed 
his  contemporaries,  not  only  in  ability  and 
in  utterance,  but  also  in  erudition.  There 
is  the  one  exception  of  mathematics,  but  it 
seems  probable  that  he  despised  what  passed 
under  that  name  in  the  twelfth  century. 
"  Mathematics,"  he  says  somewhere,  in 
a  sarcastic  parenthesis,  "the  exercise  of 
which  is  nefarious."  But  in  the  thrust  and 
parry  of  dialectics  he  found  a  keen  delight ; 
and  so  he  wandered  from  place  to  place, 
edging  his  logical  weapons  on  fellow-piipils 
and  provincial  masters,  until  one  day,  about 
the  opening  year  of  the  twelfth  century,  he 
directed  his  steps  towards  far-famed  Paris- 
beautiful,  naughty,  brilliant,  seductive  Paris, 
even  in  those  distant  days. 

But  the  Paris  of  the  first  decade  of  the 
twelfth  century  was  wholly  different,  not 
only  from  the  Paris  of  to-day,  but  even  from 
the  Paris  of  Victor  Hugo's  famous  picture. 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


21 


Chapter  II 

A  Brilliant  Victory 

JF  you  desire  to  see  the  Paris  of  those  early 
days,  imagine  yourself  beside  the  spot 
where  the  modern  Pantheon  stands.    It  is 
the  summit  of  what  Paris  called  "  the  hill  " 
for  many  a  century— the  hill  of  Ste.  Gene- 
vieve.    Save  far  the  large  monastery  of 
secular  canons  beside  you,  the  abbey  of  Ste. 
Genevieve,  there  is  yet  little  sign  of  the 
flood  of  grimy  masonry  that  will  creep  up 
slowly  from  the  river  valley,  as  the  ages 
advance,  and  foul  the  sweet  country  for 
miles  beyond.    Paris  lies  down  in  the  valley 
below,  a  toy  city.     The  larger  island  in  the 
Seme  bears  almost  the  whole  weight  of  the 
capital  of  France.    It  has,  it  is  true,  eaten  a 
little  way  into  the  northern  bank  of  the 
river,  to  which  it  is  joined  by  the  Great 


Bridge.    That  is  the  Lombard  Quarter,  and 
Lutetian  commerce  is  increasing   rapidly. 
Numbers  of  curious  ships  sail  up  the  broad, 
silver  bosom  of  the  Seine,  and  make  for  the 
port  of  St.  Landry.    The  commercial  quarter 
is  already  spreading  in   the   direction  of 
Montmartre,  with  the  public  butchery  and 
bakery  at  its  outskirt ;  but  it  is  a  mere 
fringe.    The  broad  valleys  and  the  gentle 
hills  that  are  one  day  to  support  Paris  are 
now  clothed  with  vineyards  and  orchards 
and  cornfields,  and  crowned  with  groves  of 
olive  ^  and  oak.     On  the  nearer  side,  too, 
the  city  has  already  overflowed  the  narrow 
limits  of  the  island.    There  are  houses  on 
the  fine  stone  bridge,  the  Little  Bridge,  and 
there  is  a  pretty  confusion  of  houses,  chapels, 
schools,  and  taverns  gradually  stealing  up 
the  slope  of  Ste.  Genevieve.    But,  here  also, 
most  of  the  hill  is  covered  with  gardens  and 
vineyards,  from  which  a  chapel  or  a  relic  of 
old  Roman  Lutetia  peeps  out  here  and  there 
—the  ruins  of  the  famous  old  thermae  lie 

>  This  and  other  detaHs  I  gather  from  fragments  of  the  minor  poets 
of  the  time. 


30 


22 


Peter  Ab^lard 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


23 


half-way  down  the  hill  below  us;  — and 
along  the  valley  of  the 


tt 


.  .  .  florentibus  ripis  amnis  " 


(to  quote  a  poet  of  the  time),  to  east  and 
west,  are  broad  lakes  of  fresh  green  colour, 
broken  only  in  their  sweet  monotony  by  an 
occasional  island  of  masonry,  an  abbey  with 
a  cluster  of  cottages  about  it. 

It  is  down  straight  below  us,  on  the  long, 
narrow  island,  that  we  see  the  heart  of 
France,  the  centre  of  its  political,  intellect- 
ual, and  ecclesiastical  life.  A  broad,  un- 
paved  road,  running  from  Great  Bridge  to 
Little  Bridge,  cuts  it  into  two.  Church  oc- 
cupies most  of  the  eastern  half.  State  most 
of  the  western  ;  their  grateful  subjects  pack 
themselves  as  comfortably  as  they  can  in 
the  narrow  fringe  that  is  left  between  the 
royal  and  ecclesiastical  domains  and  the  bed 
of  the  river.  Each  generation  in  turn  has 
wondered  why  it  was  so  scourged  by  '*  the 
burning  fire  "  (the  plague),  and  resolved  to 
be  more  generous  to  the  Church.  From 
the  summit  of  Ste.  Genevieve  we  see  the 


f 


i\ 


front  of  the  huge,  grey,  Roman  cathedral, 
that  goes  back  to  the  days  of  Childebert, 
and  the  residences  of  its  prelates  and  canons 
bordering  the  cloister.  Over  against  it,  to 
the  west,  is  the  spacious  royal  garden, 
which  is  graciously  thrown  open  to  the 
people  two  or  three  times  a  week,  with  the 
palace  of  King  Philip  at  the  extremity  of 
the  island.  That  is  Paris  in  the  year  of 
grace  1 100 ;  and  all  outside  those  narrow 
limits  is  a  very  dream  of  undulating  scenery, 
with  the  vesture  of  the  vine,  the  fir,  the 
cypress,  the  oak,  the  olive,  and  the  fig ;  and 
the  colour  of  the  rose,  the  almond,  the  lily, 
and  the  violet ;  and  the  broad,  sweet  Seine 
meandering  through  it ;  and  the  purest  air 
that  mortal  could  desire. 

To  our  young  philosopher  Paris  probably 
presented  itself  first  in  the  character  of 
''the  city  of  philosophers."  Each  of  the 
great  abbeys  had  its  school.  That  of  the 
abbey  of  Ste.  Genevieve  will  soon  be  familiar 
to  us.  The  abbey  of  St.  Germain  of  Aux- 
erre,  to  the  north,  and  the  abbey  of  St. 
Germain  of  the  Meadow,  to  the  west,  had 


t! 


ti 


rr 


24 


Peter  Ab^lard 


schools  at  their  gates  for  all  comers.  St. 
Martin  in  the  Fields  had  its  school,  and  the 
little  priory  of  St.  Victor,  to  the  east,  was 
soon  to  have  one  of  the  most  famous  of  all 
schools  of  theology.  The  royal  abbey  of 
St.  Denis,  a  few  miles  away,  had  a  school 
in  which  Prince  Louis  was  then  being 
trained,  together  with  the  illustrious  Abbot 
Suger.  A  number  of  private  schools  were 
scattered  about  the  foot  of  Ste.  Genevieve. 
The  Jews  had  a  school,  and— mark  the 
liberality  of  the  time  —  there  was,  or  had 
been  until  a  very  few  years  before,  a  school 
for  women ;  it  was  conducted  by  the  wife 
and  daughters  of  famous  Master  Manegold, 
of  Alsace,  women  who  were  well  versed  in 
Scripture,  and  ''  most  distinguished  in  philo- 
sophy," says  Muratori. 

But  Ab^lard  went  straight  to  the  centre 
of  Paris,  to  the  cloistral  enclosure  under  the 
shadow  of  old  Notre  Dame,^  where  was  the 
first  episcopal  school  in  the  kingdom,  and 
one  of  the  first  masters  in  Christendom. 

*  The  Notre  Dame  of  to-day,  like  the  earlier  Louvre,  dates  from  the 
end  of  the  twelfth  century. 


I 

i 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


25 


William  of  Champeaux  was  a  comparatively 
young  master,  who  had  forced  his  way  into 
high  places  by  sheer  ability.    He  was  held 
to  be  the  first  dialectician  in  France,  and 
"  almost  the  first  royal  councillor."    In  the 
great  philosophic  controversy  of  the  period 
he  was  the  leader  of  the  orthodox  school. 
The  Bishop  of  Paris  had  brought  him  to  the 
island-city,  and  vested  him  with  the  dignity 
of  archdeacon  of  the  cathedral  and  scholas- 
ticus  (chancellor  or  rector)  and  master  of 
the  episcopal  school.     So  high  was  the  re- 
pute of  his  ability  and  his  doctrine  that,  so 
Fleury  says,  he  was  called  "the  pillar  of 
doctors."    From  an  obscure  local  centre  0 
instruction  he  had  lifted  the  Parisian  school 
into  a  commanding  position,  and  had  at- 
tracted scholars  from  many  lands.     And  he 
was  then  in  the  prime  of  life.     Within 
a  few  months  Ab^lard  made  his  authority 
totter,  and  set  his  reputation  on  the  wane. 
In  six  or  seven  years  he  drove  him,  in 
shame  and  humiliation,  from  his  chair,  after 
a  contest  that  filled  Christendom  with  its 
echoes. 


ti 


26 


Peter  Abelard 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


27 


Let  us  repeat  that  William  of  Champeaux 
was  then  in  the  prime  of  life,  or  only  ten 
years  older  than  Abelard.    There  are  those 
who  talk  of  the  ''  venerable  teacher ''  and  the 
audacious,  irreverent  stripling.     This  pic- 
ture of  the  conflict  is  historically  ridiculous. 
Rousselot  and  Michaud,  two  of  the  most 
careful  students  of  Champeaux's  life,  give 
the  date  of  his  birth  as  1068  and  1070,  re- 
spectively.   He  had  fought  his  way  with 
early  success  into  the  first  chair  in  Christen- 
dom ;  he  cannot  have  been  much  older  than 
Abelard  when  he  secured  it.    Abelard  had 
an  immeasurably  greater  ability ;  he  was 
frankly  conscious  of  the  fact ;  and  he  seems 
promptly  to  have  formed  the  perfectly  legit- 
imate design  of  ousting  William— whose 
philosophy  certainly  seemed  absurd  to  him 
—and  mounting  the  great  chair  of  Notre 
Dame. 

Such  a  thought  would  naturally  take  shape 
during  the  course  of  the  following  twelve 
months.  The  only  indication  that  Abelard 
gives  us  is  to  the  effect  that  William  was 
well  disposed  towards  him  at  first,  though 


r^ 


there  is  no  foundation  in  recorded  fact  for 
the  assertion  that  William  invited  the  youth 
to  his  house ;  but  they  were  gradually  in- 
volved in  a   warm  dialectical  encounter. 
Abelard  was   not  only  a  handsome  and 
talented  youth   (which  facts  he  candidly 
tells  us  himself),  but  he  was  a  practised 
dialectician.    The  lectures  of  those  untiring 
days  lasted  for  hours,  and  might  be  inter- 
rupted at  any  moment  by  a  question  from 
a  scholar.    Moreover,  William  was  princip- 
ally occupied  with  dialectics,  and  it  would 
be  quite  impossible— if  it  were  desired— to 
instruct  youths  in  the  art  of  disputing,  with- 
out letting  them  exercise  their  powers  on 
the  hosts  of  problems  which  served  the 
purpose  of  illustration.    Hence  the  young 
Breton  must  have  quickly  brought  his  keen 
rapier   into   play.    The   consciousness  of 
power  and  the  adolescent  vanity  of  exhibit- 
ing it,  both  generously  developed  in  Abelard, 
would  prepare  the  way  for  ambition.    Ques- 
tion and  answer  soon  led  on  to  a  personal 

contest. 
But  there  was  a  stronger  source  of  provoc- 


28 


Peter  AWlard 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


29 


ation,  and  here  it  will  be  necessary  to  cast 
a  hurried  glance  at  the  great  controversy  of 
the  hour.  Cousin  has  said  that  the  schol- 
astic philosophy  was  born  of  a  phrase  that 
Boetius  translated  out  of  Porphyry.  It  is  a 
good  epigram  ;  but  it  has  the  disadvantage 
of  most  epigrams— it  is  false.  The  contro- 
versy about  genera  and  species  is  by  no 
means  of  vital  importance  to  the  scholastic 
philosophy,  as  Ab^lard  himself  has  said. 
However,  there  is  much  truth  in  the  asser- 
tion that  this  celebrated  controversy,  as  a 
specific  question,  may  be  traced  entirely 
to  Porphyry. 

Boetius  was  the  chief  author  read  in  the 
early  mediaeval  schools.  Amongst  other 
works  they  had  his  Latin  translation  of 
Porphyry's  Introduction  to  Aristotle,  and  in 
one  corner  of  this  volume  some  roving 
scholastic  had  been  arrested  by  the  allusion 
to  the  old  Greek  controversy  about  genera 
and  species.  To  put  it  shortly  :  we  have 
mental  pictures  of  individual  men,  and  we 
have  also  the  idea  of  man  in  general,  an 
idea  which  may  be  applied  to  each  and  all 


-!. 


of  the  individual  men  we  know.   The  grave 
problem  that  agitated  the  centuries  was, 
whether  not  only  the   individual   human 
beings  who  live  and  move  about  us,  but 
also  this  "general  man"  or  species,  had  an 
existence  outside  the  mind.    The  modern 
photographer  has  succeeded  in  taking  com- 
posite photographs.    A  number  of  human 
likenesses  are  superimposed  on  the  same 
plate,  so  that  at  length  individual  features 
are  blended,  and  there  emerges  only  the 
vague  portrait  of  "a  man."    The  question 
that  vexed  the  mediaeval  soul  was,  whether 
this  human  type,  as  distinct  from  the  indi- 
vidual mortals  we  see  in  the  flesh,  had  a 

real  existence. 

In  whatever  terms  the  problem  be  stated, 
it  is  sure  to  appear  almost  childish  to  the 
non-philosophical  reader ;  as,  indeed,  it  ap- 
peared to  certain  scholars  even  of  that  time. 
John  of  Salisbury,  with  his  British  common- 
sense  and  impatience  of  dialectical  subtlety, 
petulantly  spoke  of  it  as  "the  ancient  ques- 
tion, in  the  solution  of  which  the  world  has 
grown  grey,  and  more  time  has  been  con- 


30 


Peter  Abdlard 


A  Brilliant  Victory- 


Si 


sumed  than  the  Cassars  gave  to  the  conquest 
and  dominion  of  the  globe,  more  money 
wasted   than   Croesus  counted  in   all  his 
wealth."    But  listen  to  another  Briton,  and 
one  with  the  fulness  of  modern  life  outspread 
before  him.    Archbishop  Roger  Vaughan, 
defending  the  attitude  of  the  enthusiasts  in 
his  Thomas  of  Aquin,  says  :  "  Kill  ideas, 
blast  theories,  explode  the  archetypes  of 
things,  and  the  age  of  brute  force  is  not 
far  distant."    And  Rousselot  declares,  in  his 
Philosophie  du  Moyen  Age,  that  the  problem 
of  universals  is  "the  most  exalted  and  the 
most  difficult  question  in  the  whole  of  philo- 
sophy."  Poor  philosophy!  will  be  the  av- 
erage layman's  comment.   However,  though 
neither  ancient  Greeks  nor  medieval  formal- 
ists were  guilty  of  the  confusion  of  ideas 
and  ideals  which   Dom  Vaughan  betrays, 
the  schoolmen  had  contrived  to  connect 
the  question  in  a  curious  fashion  with  the 
mystery  of  the  Trinity. 

When,  therefore,  Jean  Roscelin  began  to 
probe  the  question  with  his  dialectical  weap- 
ons, the  ears  of  the  orthodox  were  opened 


wide.  The  only  position  which  was  thought 
compatible  with  the  faith  was  realism— the 
notion  that  the  species  or  the  genus  was  a 
reality,  distinct  from  the  individuals  that 
belonged  to  it,  and  outside  the  mind  that 
conceived  it.    By  and  by  it  was  whispered 
in  the  schools,  and  wandering  scholars  bore 
the  rumour  to  distant  monasteries  and  bish- 
oprics, that  Roscelin  denied  the  real  exist- 
ence of  these  universals.    Indeed,  in  his 
scorn  of  the  orthodox  position,  he  con- 
temptuously declared  them  to  be  "  mere 
words " ;  neither  in  the  world  of  reality, 
nor  in  the  mind  itself,  was  there  anything 
corresponding  to  them  ;  they  were  nothing 
but  an  artifice  of  human  speech.    Europe 
was  ablaze  at  once.    St.  Anselni  assailed 
the  heretic  from  the  theological  side  ;  Wil- 
liam of  Champeaux  stoutly  led  the  opposi- 
tion, and  the  defence  of  realism,  from  the 
side'  of  philosophy.    Such  was  the  question 
of  the  hour,  such  the  condition  of  the  world 
of  thought,  when  Pierre  Abdlard  reached 
the  cloistral  school  at  Paris. 
If  you  stated  the  problem  clearly  to  a 


32 


Peter  Abelard 


hundred  men  and  women  who  were  un- 
acquainted with  philosophic  speculations, 
ninety-nine  of  them  would  probably  answer 
that  these   universals  were   neither  mere 
words  nor  external  realities,  but  general  or 
generalised  ideas— composite  photographs, 
to  use  the  interesting  comparison  of  Mn 
Galton,  in  the  camera  of  the  mind.    That 
was  the  profound  discovery  with  which 
Abelard  shattered  the  authority  of  his  master, 
revolutionised  the  thought  of  his  age,  and 
sent  his  fame  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.    He 
had  introduced  a  new  instrument  into  the 
dialectical  world,  common-sense,  like  the 
little  girl  in  the  fairy  tale,  who  was  brought 
to  see  the  prince  in  his  imaginary  clothes.' 
This,  at  least,  Abelard  achieved,  and  it  was 
a  brilliant  triumph  for  the  unknown  youth  : 
he  swept  for  ever  out  of  the  world  of  thought, 
in  spite  of  almost  all  the  scholars  of  Christ- 
endom, that  way  of  thinking  and  of  speak- 
ing which  is  known  as  realism.   I  am  familiar 

■  Lest  there  be  a  suspicion  of  caricature,  or  of  ignorance  (tliough,  I  too 
have  sat  in  the  chair  of  scholastic  philosophy,  and  held  grave  discourse 
on  f««ra  and  species),  let  me  remind  the  reader  of  the  theological 
import  which  was  read  into  the  problem. 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


33 


with  the  opinion  of  scholastic  thinkers  on 
this  question,  from  the  thirteenth  century 
to  the  present  day.  It  differs  verbally,  but 
not  substantially,  from  the  conceptualism  of 
Abelard.  The  stripling  of  twenty  or  twenty- 
one  had  enunciated  the  opinion  which  the 
world  of  thought  was  to  adopt. 

We  still  have  some  of  the  arguments  with 
which  Abelard  assailed  his  chief— but  enough 
of  philosophy ;  let  us  proceed  with  the  story. 
Once  more  the  swift  and  animated  years  are 
condensed  into  a  brief  phrase  by  the  gloomy 
autobiographist ;  though  there  is  a  moment- 
ary flash  of  the  old  spirit  when  he  says  of 
the  earlier  stage  that  he  "  seemed  at  times 
to  have  the  victory  in  the  dispute,"  and 
when  he  describes  the  final  issue  in  the 
words  of  Ovid, 

"...  non  sum  superatus  ab  illo." 

He  soon  found  the  weak  points  in  William's 
armour,  and  proceeded  to  attack  him  with 
the  uncalculating  passion  of  youth.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  friendly  master  was  con- 
verted into  a  bitter,  life-long  enemy  ;  and 


34 


Peter  Abdlard 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


35 


that,  he  wearily  writes, ''  was  the  beginning 
of  my  calamities/'  Possibly:  but  it  is  not 
unlikely  that  he  had  had  a  similar  experi- 
ence at  Locmenach.  However  that  may  be, 
it  was  a  fatal  victory.  Ten  years  afterwards 
we  find  William  in  closest  intimacy  and 
daily  intercourse  with  Bernard  of  Clairvaux. 

Most  of  the  scholars  at  Notre  Dame  were 
incensed  at  the  success  of  Abelard.  In 
those  earlier  days  the  gathering  was  pre- 
dominantly clerical ;  the  more  so  on 
account  of  William's  championship  of  ortho- 
doxy. But  as  the  controversy  proceeded, 
and  rumour  bore  its  echo  to  the  distant 
schools,  the  number  and  the  diversity  of  the 
scholars  increased.  Many  of  the  youths 
took  the  side  of  the  handsome,  brilliant 
young  noble,  and  encouraged  him  to  resist. 
He  decided  to  open  a  school. 

There  was  little  organisation  in  the  schools 
at  that  period  — the  university  not  taking 
shape  until  fully  sixty  years  afterwards 
(Compayre)  —  and  Abelard  would  hardly 
need  a  ''  license ''  for  the  purpose,  outside 
the  immediate  precincts  of  the  cloister.   But 


•if 


William  was  angry  and  powerful.  It  were 
more  discreet,  at  least,  not  to  create  a  direct 
and  flagrant  opposition  to  him.  The  little 
group  of  scholars  moved  to  Melun,  and 
raised  a  chair  for  their  new  master  in  that 
royal  town.  It  was  thirty  miles  away, 
down  the  valley  of  the  Seine  ;  but  a  thirty- 
mile  walk  was  a  trifle  in  the  days  when 
railways  were  unknown,  and  William  soon 
noticed  a  leakage  in  his  class.  Moreover, 
Melun  was  an  important  town,  the  King 
spending  several  months  there  every  year. 
William  made  strenuous  efforts  to  have  the 
new  academy  suppressed,  but  he  seems  to 
have  quarrelled  with  some  of  the  courtiers, 
and  these  took  up  the  cause  of  the  new 
master  of  noble  rank. 

When  Abelard  saw  the  powerlessness  of 
the  chancellor  of  Notre  Dame,  he  decided  to 
come  a  little  nearer.  There  was  another 
fortified  and  royal  town,  Corbeil  by  name, 
about  half-way  to  Paris,  and  thither  he  trans- 
ferred his  chair  and  his  followers.  The  move 
was  made,  he  tells  us,  for  the  convenience 
of  his  students.    His  reputation  was  already 


36 


Peter  Ab^lard 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


37 


higher  than  William's,  and  the  duel  of  the 
masters  had  led  to  a  noisy  conflict  between 
their  respective  followers.    Corbeil  being  a 
comfortable  day's  walk  from  Paris,  there 
was  a  constant  stream  of  rival  pupils  flow- 
ing between  the  two.    In  the  schools  and 
the  taverns,  on  the  roads  and  the  bridges, 
nothing  was  heard  but  the  increasing  jargon 
of  the  junior  realists  and  conceptualists. 
Besides  the  great  problem,  dialectics  had 
countless   lesser  ones  that  would  furnish 
argumentative    material   for   an    eternity. 
"  Whether  the  pig  that  is  being  driven  to 
market  is  held  by  the  man  or  the  rope  " ; 
"  whether  a  shield  that  is  white  on  one  side 
and  black  on  the  other  may  be  called  either 
black  or  white,"  and  problems  of  that  kind, 
are  not  to  be  compared  in  point  of  depth 
and  fecundity  with  such  mere  matters  of 
fact  as  the  origin  of  species.    But  the  long 
and  severe  strain  had  gravely  impaired  Ab6- 
lard's  health ;  he  was  compelled  to  close  his 
school,  and  return  to  Brittany.     William 
was  not  the  only  one  who  rejoiced.    The 
Church  was  beginning  to  view  with  some 


( 


alarm  the  spread  of  the  new  doctrine  and 
the  new  spirit.  Cynical  rivals  were  com- 
plaining that  ''  the  magician  "  had  brought 
*'  a  plague  of  frogs  "  on  the  land. 

Ab^lard  tells  us  that  he  remained  ''for 
several  years  almost  cut  off  from  France. " 
Remusat  thinks  it  was  probably  during  this 
period  that  he  studied  under  Roscelin,  but 
there  is  now  little  room  for  doubt  that  his 
intercourse  with  the  famous  nominalist  falls 
in  the  earlier  years.  Much  more  probable 
is  it  that  we  should  assign  his  relations  to 
Tirric  of  Chartres  to  the  later  date.  The 
substance  of  the  anecdote  that  was  found 
on  the  margin  of  the  Ratisbon  manuscript 
seems  to  accord  admirably  with  Abelard's 
circumstances  in  the  period  we  have  now 
reached.  The  question,  however,  will  in- 
terest few  beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  his- 
torical specialists.  He  himself  is  silent  about 
the  few  years  of  rest  in  the  Breton  castle, 
merely  stating  that  he  returned  to  Paris 
when  he  had  recovered  his  health.  We 
have  to  remember  that  the  autobiography 
he  has  left  us  was  entitled  by  him  the  Story 


38 


Peter  Abelard 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


39 


of  my  Calamities,  It  is  not  the  full  pre- 
sentment of  the  swiftly  moving  drama  of 
the  life  of  Abelard.  He  speaks  of  joy  only 
when  it  is  the  prelude  to  sorrow,  or  when 
some  faint  spark  of  the  old  ardour  leaps 
into  life  once  more. 

When  Abelard  at  length  returned  to  the 
arena,  he  found  a  significant  change.  Wil- 
liam had  deserted  the  cloistral  school.  In  a 
solitary  spot  down  the  river,  beyond  the 
foot  of  the  eastern  slope  of  Ste.  Genevieve, 
was  a  small  priory  that  had  belonged  to  the 
monks  of  St.  Victor  of  Marseilles.  Thither, 
says  Franklin,  William  had  retired  *^to  hide 
his  despair  and  the  shame  of  his  defeat." 
The  controversy  had  by  no  means  been  de- 
cided against  him  yet.  Indeed,  William's 
biographers  loyally  contend  that  he  was 
sincerely  touched  by  the  religious  spirit  of 
the  age,  and  adopted  the  monastic  life  from 
the  purest  of  motives.  Abelard,  on  the 
other  hand,  declares  that  the  inspiration 
came  from  a  hope  of  exchanging  the  chair 
of  Notre  Dame  for  that  of  an  episcopal  see. 
Abelard  is  scarcely  an  ideal  witness,  though 


the  passage  was  written  nearly  thirty  years 
afterwards,  yet  his  interpretation  is  probably 
correct ;  at  least  if  we  take  it  as  a  partial 
explanation.    William  was  shrewd  enough 
to  see  that  his  supremacy  in  the  scholastic 
world  was  doomed,  and  that  the  best  alter- 
native was  a  bishopric.    He  was  still  young 
(about  thirty-eight,  apparently)  and  ambi- 
tious ;  in  his  character  of  archdeacon,  he 
was  already  only  one  step  removed  from 
the  episcopate ;  and  he  had  influence  and 
qualifications   above   the    average.      It  is 
scarcely  correct  to  say,  as  Gervaise  does, 
that  at  that  time  ''the  monastery  was  the 
recognised  path  to  the  episcopacy,''  on  ac- 
count of  the  wide  degradation  of  the  secular 
clergy.     Their  degradation  was  assuredly 
deep  and  wide-spread,  but  so  were  simony 
and  electoral  corruption.   We  generally  find, 
in  the  old  chronicles,  one  or  other  of  the 
deceased  bishop's  archdeacons  ascending 
the  vacant  throne.    However,  William  of 
Champeaux  was  a  religious  man  ;  for  the 
pious  the  surest  path  to   the   episcopate 
passed  through  the  monastery. 


40 


Peter  Abdiard 


Whatever  be  the  correct  analysis  of  the 
motive -and  it  was  probably  a  complex 
feeling,  including  all  the  impulses  suggested, 
which  William  himself  scarcely  cared  to  ex- 
amine too  narrowly— the  fact  is  that  in  the 
year  1108  he  donned  the  black  cassock  of 
the  canon  regular,  and  settled  with  a  few 
companions  in  the  priory  of  St.  Victor.  The 
life  of  the  canons  regular  was  a  compromise 
between  that  of  the  sterner  monks  and  the 
unascetic  life  of  the  secular  canons  and  secu- 
lar clergy.    They  followed,  on  the  whole, 
the  well-known  rule  of  St.  Augustine.  They 
arose  at  midnight  to  chant  their  matins,  but, 
unlike  the  Cistercians,  they  returned  to  bed 
as  soon  as  the  "office  "  was  over.    They 
ate  meat  three  times  a  week,  and  were  not 
restricted  in  the  taking  of  fish  and  eggs. 
They  had  linen  underclothing,  and  much 
friendly  intercourse  with   each  other,  and 
they  were  less  rigidly  separated  from  the 
world.    Altogether,  not  too  rough  a  path  to 
higher  dignities— or  to  heaven-and  (a  not 
unimportant  point)  one  that  did  not  lead  far 
from  Paris. 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


41 


Such  was  the  foundation  of  one  of  the 
most  famous  schools  of  mystic  theology. 
The  abbey  that  William  instituted  before 
he  was  removed  to  the  coveted  dignity  in 
1113  has  attained  an  immortality  in  the 
world  of  thought  through  such  inmates  as 
Richard  and  Hugh  of  St.  Victor. . 

Ab^lard's  first  impulse  on  hearing  the  news 
was  to  repair  at  once  to  the  cloistral  school. 
He  found  the  chair  occupied.  William  had 
not,  in  fact,  resigned  his  title  of  scholastic, 
and  he  had  placed  a  substitute  in  the  chair.  It 
was  a  poor  ruse,  for  there  was  now  no  master 
in  Christendom  who  could  long  endure  the 
swift,  keen  shafts  of  the  ambitious  Breton. 
Ab^lard  would  quickly  make  the  chair  of 
Notre  Dame  uncomfortable  for  the  most 
pachydermatous  substitute ;  and  he  seems  to 
have  commenced  the  edifying  task  at  once, 
when  he  heard  that  the  unfortunate  Wil- 
liam had  set  up  a  chair  of  rhetoric  at  St.  Vic- 
tor. Like  a  hawk.  Master  Peter  descended 
on  the  ill-fated  canon.  The  Bishop  of  Mans 
had,  it  appears,  stimulated  William  into  a  re- 
newal of  activity,  and  he  had  chosen  that 


42 


Peter  Abelard 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


43 


apparently  safe  section  of  the  trivium,  the  art 
of  rhetoric. 

With  what  must  have  been  a  mock  humil- 
ity, Abelard  went  down  the  river  each  day 
with  the  crowd  of  monks  and  clerks  to  re- 
ceive instruction  in  rhetoric  from  the  new 
Prior  of  St.  Victor's.    Deutsch  remarks,  with 
Teutonic  gravity,  that  we  do  not  read  of  a 
reconciliation  between  the  two.   Nor  do  we 
find  that  Abelard  had  been  ''converted"  to 
the  spirit  of  Robert  '5f  Arbrissel  or  Bernard 
of  Clairvaux  during  his  retirement  at  Pallet. 
Abelard,  now  nearly  thirty  years  of  age, 
could  have  taught  William  the  art  of  rhetoric 
with  more  profit  than  he  himself  was  likely 
to  derive  from  William's /)r^/^^//b//^5.    His 
obvious  aim  was  to  break  William's  connec- 
tion with  Paris  and  with  Notre  Dame.    The 
high  and  gentle  spirit  of  these  latter  days, 
that  studies  the  feelings  of  an  antagonist  and 
casts  aside  an  ambition  that  would  lead  over 
the  fallen  fame  of  a  fellow-man,  did  not  com- 
mend itself  to  the  mediaeval  mind. 

And  so  the  contest  ran  on,  until  at  length 
a  new  rumour  was  borne  over  the  roads  and 


into  the  schools  of  Europe.  The  ''  pillar  of 
doctors"  was  broken— had  fallen  beyond 
restoration.  Guillaume  de  Champeaux  had 
changed  his  doctrine  on  the  question  of  uni- 
versal. Swiftly  the  story  ran  over  hill  and 
dale— they  were  days  when  the  words  of 
masters  outstripped  the  deeds  of  kings  and 
the  fall  of  dynasties  :  the  champion  of  real- 
ism had  so  far  yielded  to  Abelard's  pressure 
as  to  modify  his  thesis  materially.  For  long 
years  he  had  held  that  the  universal  was 
essentially  one  and  the  same  in  all  its  indi- 
viduals ;  now  he  admitted  that  it  was  only 
indifferently,  ox  individually ,  identical.^  The 
death  of  King  Philip  was  a  matter  of  minor 
interest  to  a  world  that  brooded  night  and 
day  over  the  question  of  genera  and  species. 
Abelard  felt  that  he  need  strive  no  longer 
in  the  hall  of  the  poor  canon  regular,  and  he 
turned  his  attention  to  the  actual  occupant 
of  the  chair  of  Notre  Dame.  We  need  not 
delay  in  determining  the  name  of  the  luck- 
less master,  whether  it  was  Robert  of  Melun, 

^  The  reader  would  probably  not  be  grateful  for  a  long  explanation 
of  the  meaning  of  the  change.  It  amounted  to  a  considerable  approach 
of  William's  position  towards  that  of  Abelard. 


44 


Peter  Abelard 


A  Brilliant  Victory 


45 


as  some  think,  or  Adam  of  the  Little  Bridge, 
or  Peter  the  Eater  — poor  man  !  a  sad  name 
to  come  down  the  ages  with  ;  it  was  merely 
an  allusion  to  his  voracious  reading.  He  had 
the  saving  grace  of  common-sense,  what- 
ever other  gifts  he  was  burdened  with.  As 
soon  as  he  saw  the  collapse  of  William's 
authority  and  the  dispersal  of  his  pupils,  he 
resolved  to  decline  a  contest  with  the  irre- 
sistible Breton.  He  voluntarily  yielded  the 
chair  to  Abelard,  and  took  his  place  on  the 
hay-strewn  floor  amongst  the  new  worship- 
pers. Such  a  consummation,  however,  was 
not  to  the  taste  of  the  angered  scholastic.  A 
substitute  had,  it  seems,  the  power  to  sub- 
delegate  his  license,  so  that  the  installation  of 
Abelard  in  the  cathedral  school  was  correct 
and  canonical.  But  William  was  still  scholas- 
tic of  the  place,  and  he  had  an  obvious  rem- 
edy. Robert,  or  Peter,  or  whoever  it  may 
have  been,  depended  on  him,  and  he  at  once 
set  to  work  to  recall  the  delegation.  Abelard 
says  that  he  trumped  up  a  false  and  most 
obnoxious  charge  against  the  intermediary. 
He  did,  at  all  events,  succeed  in  changing 


I 


the  appointment,  and  thus  rendering  Ab^- 
lard's  subdelegated  license  null.  The  new- 
comer was  a  man  of  different  temper,  so 
that  Abelard  only  occupied  the  great  chair 
''for  a  few  days."  He  could  not  teach  in 
or  about  the  episcopal  school  without  a 
'*  respondent,'' and  he  therefore  once  more 
transferred  his  chair  to  Melun.^ 

The  Prior  of  St.  Victor's  had  won  a  pyrrhic 
victory.  Whether  or  no  Abelard  had  learned 
a  lesson  from  him,  and  began  in  his  turn  to 
practise  the  subtle  art  of  diplomacy,  we  can- 
not say,  but  Paris  was  soon  too  warm  for 
the  Prior.  The  lawless  students  respected 
his  authority  no  longer,  and  clamoured  for 
Abelard.  The  king  was  dead  :  long  live 
the  king !  They  discovered  that  William's 
conversion  was  peculiarly  incomplete.  For 
a  man  who  had  felt  an  inner  call  to  leave 
the  world,  he  still  evinced  a  fairly  keen  in- 
terest in  its  concerns.     William  found  their 


*  To  transfer  a  chair  was  frequently  a  physical  operation  in  those 
days.  There  is,  in  one  of  the  old  records,  a  story  of  a  dissatisfied 
master  and  his  pupils  removing  their  chair  to  another  town,  higher  up 
the  river.  They  were  not  welcome,  it  seems,  and  their  chair  was 
pitched  into  the  river  to  find  its  way  home. 


46 


Peter  Abdiard 


"ceaseless  raillery"  intolerable.  He  fled, 
says  Archbishop  Roger  Vaughan,  "  to  hide 
his  shame  in  a  distant  monastery. "  Ab^lard 
merely  records  that  "he  transferred  his 
community  to  a  certain  town  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  city."  The  path  to  Paris  lay 
open  once  more. 


Chapter  III 

Progress  of  the  Academic  War 

WHEN  Ab^lard  and  his  admirers  returned 
from  Melun  to   Paris,   they  found 
William's  new  successor  sitting  resolutely 
in  the  chair  of  Notre  Dame.    From  some 
manuscripts  of  the  Story  of  my  Calamities 
it  appears  that  he  had  won  repute  by  his 
lectures  on  Priscian,  the  Latin  grammarian. ' 
He  had  thus  been  able  to  augment  the  little 
band  who  remained  faithful  to  William  and 
to  orthodoxy  with  a  certain  number  of  per- 
sonal admirers.    Clearly  the  episcopal  school 
must  be  taken  by  storm.     And  so,  says 
Ab^lard,    his   pen   leaping  forward   more 
quickly  at  the  recollection,  twenty  years 
afterwards,  "  we  pitched  our  camp  on  the 
hill  of  Ste.  Genevieve." 

During  the   century  that   preceded  the 
coalescence  of  the  schools  into  a  university, 

47 


48 


Peter  Abelard 


Ste.  Genevieve  was  the  natural  home  of  re- 
|belIion.   Rosceh'n  had  taught  there.  Joscelin 
I  the  Red,  another  famous  nominalist,  was 
teaching  there.   The  "  feminists  "  had  raised 
their  tabernacle  there ;  the  Jews  their  syna- 
gogue.    From  its  physical  advantages  the 
hill  naturally  presented  itself  to  the  mind  of 
every  master  who  had  designs  on  the  epis- 
copal school  or  the  episcopal  philosophy. 
Its  gentle,  sunny  flanks  offered  ideal  situa- 
tions for  schools,  and  the  students  were 
breaking  away  more  and  more  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  cloister  and  the  subordina- 
tion it  expressed.    A  new  town  was  rapidly 
forming  at  its  foot,  by  the  river,  and  on  the 
northern  slope ;  a  picturesque  confusion  of 
schools,    chapels,    brothels,    taverns,  and 
hospices.    It  was  the  cradle  of  the  famed 
Latin  Quarter  — w/j  Latin  in  those  days, 
when  the  taverns  swung  out  their  Latin 
signs,    "taverm   de  grangia"    "ad  tur- 
botum,"  " apud  dtios  cfgnos,"  and  so  forth, 
and  the  songs  that  came  from  the  latticed,' 
vine-clothed  arbours  were  half  French,  half 
Celtic-Latin. 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     49 

/ib^lard  did  not  open  a  private  school  on 

"h'm     '.'»"'  ^'''^'^'^'^'^^^^^"•t  on 
the  island    from  the  abbey  of  Ste.  Gene- 
vieve at  the  summit,  the  site  now  occupied 
by  the  Pantheon.    There  is  nothing  in  the 
least  remarkable  in  the  abbey  opening  its 
gates  to  one  who  was  obviously  bent  on 
assailing  the  great  ecclesiastical  school,  and 
who  was  already  regarded  as  the  parent  of 
a  new  and  freer  generation  of  students. 
The  secular  canons  had  little  deference  for 
authority  and  little  love  of  asceticism  at 
that  period.   St.  Norbert  had  fruitlessly  tried 
to  reform  them,  and  had  been  forced  to  em- 
body his  ideal  in  a  new  order.     Cardinal 
Jacques  de  Vitry,  the  classical  censor  of  the 
twelfth  century,  makes  bitter  comment  on 
their  hawks  and  horses,  their  jesters  and 
smgmg-girls,  and  their  warmer  than  spiritual 
affection  for  their  sisters  in  religion,  the 
canonesses. "     It  was  natural  enough  that 
an  abbey  of  secular  canons  should  welcome 
the  witty  and  brilliant  young  noble -and 
the  wealth  that  accompanied  him 
We   have  little   information   about  the 


y 


50 


Peter  Abdlard 


abbey  at  that  precise  date,  but  history  has 
much  to  say  of  its  affairs  some  thirty  or 
forty  years  afterwards,  and  thus  affords  a 
retrospective  light.     In  the  year  1 146  Inno- 
cent the  Second  paid  a  visit  to  Paris.    The 
relics  of  Ste.  Genevieve  were  one  of  the 
treasures  of  the  city,  and  thither  his  holi- 
ness went  with  his  retinue,  and  King  Louis 
and  his  followers.     In  the  crush  that  was 
caused  in  the  abbey  church,  the  servants  of 
the  canons  quarrelled  with  those  of  the 
Court,  and  one  of  them  was  unlucky  enough 
to  bring  his  staff  down  with  some  force  on 
the  royal  pate.    That  was  a  death-blow  to 
the  gay  life  of  the  abbey.    Paris,  through  the 
Abbot  of  St.  Denis,  who  was  also  the  first 
royal  councillor,  quickly  obtained  royal  and 
papal  assent  to  the  eviction  of  the  can- 
ons, and  they  were  soon  summarily  turned 
out  on  the  highroad.    They  did  not  yield 
without  a  struggle,  it  is  true.    Many  a  night 
afterwards,  when  the  canons  regular  who 
replaced  them  were  in  the  midst  of  their 
solemn  midnight  chant,  the  evicted  broke 
in  the  doors  of  the  church,  and  made  such 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     5^ 

turmoil  inside  that  the  chanters  could  not 
hear  each  other  across  the  choir.  And 
when  they  did  eventually  depart  for  less 
rigorous  surroundings,  they  thoughtfully 
took  with  them  a  good  deal  of  the  gold 
from  Ste.  Genevieve's  tomb  and  other  eccle- 
siastical treasures,  which  were  not  reclaimed 
until  after  many  adventures. 

To  this  abbey  of  Ste.  Genevieve,  then,  the 
militant  master  led  his  followers,  and  he  be- 
gan at  once  to  withdraw  the  students  frorn 
Notre  Dame,  as  he  candidly  tells  us 
Bishop  Galo  and  his  chapter  found  their 
cloistral  school  deserted,  they  might  be  in- 
duced to  consider  Ab^lard's  gifts  and  influ- 
ence    So  the  war  went  on  merrily  between 
the  two  camps.     The  masters  fulminated 
against  each  other ;  the  students  ran  from 
school  to  school,  and  argued  it  out  on  the 
bridge  and  in  the  taverns,  and  brought  ques- 
tions to  their  logical  conclusion  in  the  Pr6- 
aux-clercs.»     There  was  certainly,  as  we 
saw  previously,  ample  room  for  litigation  m 

.  Until  a  comparatively  recent  date  alUr  5».  ^^';  --"' '"  «^ 
language  of  the  Latin  Quarter,  to  settle  an  affair  of  honour. 


52 


Peter  Abaard 


the  problems  of  med,>val  dialectics     (ohn 
at  Ste    Cenev,eve  (though  not  in  the  ab 
wtnl;  re,*"  T'  '"'  "'  '^"^  -  '  ^t 

When  he  returned  to  Paris  twelve  vear.: 
afterwards  he  found  his  dialecfarfrfe^"' 

of  "t":  "'  "'"'  ""  ">^"'-     "  They  had 
not  added  the  smallest   proposition^'  he 

in  Ws  day  ""      '"  "'^'""  ''""''' 

life^f  ,f.'  '  ""i""'  "''«'"  '"'»  'he  school- 
ooswin  of  Douai  -  whom  we  shall  meet 
a|3.n  once  or  twice -was  studying  in  th' 
^001  of  Master  joscelin  the  Red^do'v^     he 
h  II.    He  was  a  youthful  saint  of  the  resu 
lahon  pattern :  had  borne  the  aureole  from 

«  bl    ••    ^'*'"  ""^  '™^  he  is  deserved 

srr..°-7-:rrth:'ir 

"this  dog  whTb^rtd-aUhTSt  f- 
ready,  the  authors  of  the  saint's  lifei, wo 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     53 

monks  of  the  twelfth  century,— say,  ''Abe- 
lard's  hand  was  against  every  man,  and 
every  man's  hand  against  him,*'  yet  no  one 
seemed  inclined  ''to  thrash  him  with  the 
stick  of  truth."  The  young  saint  could  not 
understand  it.  He  went  to  Master  Joscelin 
at  length,  and  declared  that  he  was  going 
to  do  the  work  of  the  Lord  himself.  Joscelin 
is  reported  to  have  endeavoured  to  dissuade 
him  with  a  feeling  description  of  Abelard's 
rhetorical  power ;  we  do  not  know,  how- 
ever, that  Joscelin  was  void  of  all  sense  of 
humour.  In  any  case  the  saintly  youngster 
of  "modest  stature"  with  the  "blue-grey 
eyes  and  light  hair "  had  a  good  measure  of 
courage.  It  will  be  interesting,  perhaps,  to 
read  the  issue  in  the  serio-comic  language 
of  the  times. 

**  With  a  few  companions  he  ascended  the  hill  of 
Ste.  Genevieve,  prepared,  like  David,  to  wage  single 
conflict  with  the  Goliath  who  sat  there  thundering 
forth  strange  novelties  of  opinion  to  his  followers  and 
ridiculing  the  sound  doctrine  of  the  wise. 

**  When  he  arrived  at  the  battlefield — ^that  is,  when 
he  entered  the  school  —  he  found  the  master  giving 
his  lecture  and  instilling  his  novelties  into  his  hearers. 
But  as  soon  as  he  began  to  speak,  the  master  cast  an 


54 


Peter  Abdlard 


angry  look  at  him  ;  knowing  himself  to  be  a  warrior 
from  his  youth,  and  noticing  that  the  scholar  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  nervous,  he  despised  him  in  his  heart. 
The  youth  was,  indeed,  fair  and  handsome  of  appear- 
ance, but  slender  of  body  and  short  of  stature.  And 
when  the  proud  one  was  urged  to  reply,  he  said  : 
*  Hold  thy  peace,  and  disturb  not  the  course  of  my 
lecture. '  " 

The  story  runs,  however,  that  Abelard's 
students  represented  to  him  that  the  youth 
was  of  greater  importance  than  he  seemed 
to  be,  and  persuaded  him  to  take  up  the 
glove.  *'  Very  well,"  said  Abelard,— and  it 
is  not  improbable,— **  let  him  say  what  he 
has  to  say."  It  was,  of  course,  unfortunate 
for  Goliath,  as  the  young  champion  of  ortho- 
doxy, aided  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  completely 
crushed  him  in  the  midst  of  his  own  pupils. 

**The  strong  man  thus  bound  by  him  who  had 
entered  his  house,  the  victor,  who  had  secured  the 
Protean-changing  monster  with  the  unfailing  cord  of 
truth,  descended  the  hill.  When  they  had  come  to 
the  spot  where  their  companions  awaited  them  in  the 
distant  schools  [t.e,,  when  they  had  got  to  a  safe  dis- 
tance from  Abelard's  pupils],  they  burst  forth  in  paeans 
of  joy  and  triumph  :  humbled  was  the  tower  of  pride, 
downcast  was  the  wall  of  contumacy,  fallen  was  he 
that  had  scoffed  at  Israel,  broken  was  the  anvil  of  the 
smiter,"  etc. 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     55 

The  course  of  events  does  not  seem  to 
have  been  much  influenced  by  this  breaking 
of  the  ''anvil."  Joscelin  was  soon  com- 
pelled to  seek  fresh  pastures  ;  he  also  found 
ultimate  consolation  in  a  bishopric,  and  a 
share  in  the  condemnation  of  Abelard.  The 
commentator  of  Priscian  must  then  have 
received  the  full  force  of  Abelard's  keen 
dialectical  skill  and  mordant  satire.  His 
students  began  to  fall  away  to  the  rival 
camp  in  large  numbers.  William  was  in- 
formed in  his  distant  solitude,  and  he 
returned  (impudenter,  says  Abelard)  in 
haste  to  St.  Victor's.  He  opened  his  old 
school  in  the  priory,  and  for  a  time  Paris 
rang  more  loudly  than  ever  with  the  dia- 
lectical battle.  But  William's  intervention 
proved  fatal  to  his  cause.  The  substitute 
had  kept  a  handful  of  students  about  him, 
Abelard  says,  but  even  they  disappeared 
when  William  returned.  The  poor  Priscian- 
ist  could  think  of  nothing  better  than  to  de- 
velop ''  a  call  to  the  monastic  life,"  and  he 
obeyed  it  with  admirable  alacrity.  How- 
ever, just  as  Abelard  was  about  to  enter  on 


56 


Peter  Ab^lard 


the  last  stage  of  the  conflict,  he  was  recalled 
to  Pallet  by  his  mother. 

The  eleventh  century  had  witnessed  a 
strong  revival  of  the  monastic  spirit.  When 
men  came  at  length  to  feel  the  breath  of  an 
ideal  in  their  souls,  the  sight  of  the  fearful 
disorder  of  the  age  stimulated  them  to  the 
sternest  sacrifices.  They  believed  that  He 
who  said,  "If  thou  wilt  be  perfect,  go  and 
sell  that  thou  hast,  and  give  to  the  poor," 
was  God,  that  He  meant  what  He  said,  and 
that  He  spoke  the  message  to  all  the  ages. 
So  there  uprose  a  number  of  fervent  preach- 
ers, whose  voices  thrilled  with  a  strange 
passion,  and  they  burned  the  Christ-mes- 
sage into  the  souls  of  men  and  women.  In 
Brittany  and  Normandy  Robert  of  Arbrissel 
and  two  or  three  others  had  been  at  work 
years  before  St.  Bernard  began  his  apostol- 
ate.  They  had  broken  up  thousands  of 
homes— usually  those  which  were  helping 
most  to  sweeten  the  life  of  the  world— and 
sent  husband  and  wife  to  spend  their  days 
apart  in  monasteries  and  nunneries.  The 
modern  world  speaks  of  the  harshness  of  it ; 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War      57 

in  their  thoughts  it  was  only  a  salutary 
separation  for  a  time,  making  wholly  certain 
their  speedy  reunion  in  a  not  too  ethereal 
heaven.  In  the  great  abbey  of  Fontevraud, 
founded  by  Robert  of  Arbrissel  in  the  year 
1 100,  there  were  nearly  four  thousand  nuns, 
a  large  proportion  of  whom  were  married 
women.  Even  in  their  own  day  the  mon- 
astic orators  were  strongly  opposed  on 
account  of  their  appalling  dissolution  of 
domestic  ties.  Roscelin  attacked  Robert 
of  Arbrissel  very  warmly  on  the  ground 
that  he  received  wives  into  his  monasteries 
against  the  will  of  their  husbands,  and  in 
defiance  of  the  command  of  the  Bishop  of 
Angers  to  release  them :  he  boldly  repeats 
the  charge  in  a  letter  to  the  Bishop  of  Paris 
in  1 1 2 1 .  Not  only  sober  thinkers  and  honest 
husbands  would  resent  the  zeal  of  the 
Apostle  of  Brittany ;  the  courtly,  and  the  ec- 
clesiastical and  monastic,  gallants  of  the 
time  would  be  equally  angry  with  him. 
We  have  another  curious  objection  in  some 
of  the  writers  of  the  period.  Answering 
the  question  why  men  were  called  to  the 


I 


58 


Peter  Abelard 


monastic  life  so  many  centuries  before 
women,  they  crudely  affirm  that  the  greater 
frailty  of  the  women  had  made  them  less 
competent  to  meet  the  moral  dangers  of  the 
cenobitic  life.  Thus  from  one  cause  or 
other  a  number  of  calumnies,  still  found 
in  the  chronicles,  were  in  circulation  about 
Robert  of  Arbrissel.^  It  would  be  interest- 
ing to  know  what  half-truths  there  were  at 
the  root  of  these  charges  ;  there  may  have 
been  such,  in  those  days,  quite  consistently 
with  perfect  religious  sincerity.  In  the 
martyrologies  of  some  of  the  monastic  ord- 
ers, there  are  women  mentioned  with  high 
praise  who  disguised  themselves  as  men, 
and  lived  for  years  in  monasteries.  It  is 
noteworthy   that    mediaeval   folk   worked 

*  As  a  mere  illustration  of  the  times— no  one  would  think  of  taking 
it  seriously— we  may  quote  the  passage  referring  to  him  in  Dubois's 
Historia  Ecclesi^  Tarisiensis  (also  found  in  Lobineau).  A  monk  and 
bishop,  Gaufridus  Vindoniencensis,  writes  to  remonstrate  with  Robert 
for  "  inventing  a  new  kind  of  martyrdom  .  .  .  inter  feminas 
et  cum  ipsis  noctu  frequenter  cubare.  Hinc  tibi  videris,  ut  asseris, 
Domini  Salvatoris  digne  bajulare  crucem,  cum  extinguere  conaris  male 
accensum  camis  ardorem."  Later  he  complains  of  Robert's  partiality, 
treating  some  nuns  with  unusual  sweetness  and  others  with  excessive 
acrimony ;  and  amongst  the  punishments  inflicted  on  the  latter  he 
mentions  the  penance  of  "  stripping." 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     59 

none  of  those  miracles  at  the  tomb  of  Rob- 
ert of  Arbrissel  that  they  wrought  at  the 
tombs  of  St.  Bernard  and  St.  Norbert.  He 
is  not  a  canonised  saint. 

However,  in  spite  of  both  responsible  and 
irresponsible  opposition,  Robert  of  Arbrissel, 
Vitalis  the  Norman,  and  other  nervous  ora- 
tors, had  caused  an  extensive  movement 
from  the  hearth  to  the  cloister  throughout 
Brittany  and  Normandy,  such  as  St.  Bernard 
inaugurated  in  France  later  on.  Home  after 
hom^— chateau  or  chaumiere — was  left  to  the 
children,  and  they  who  had  sworn  com- 
panionship in  life  and  death  cheerfully  parted 
in  the  pathetic  trust  of  a  reunion.  Abelard's 
father  was  touched  by  the  sacred  fire,  and 
entered  a  monastery.  His  wife  had  to  follow 
his  example.  Whatever  truth  there  was  in 
the  words  of  Roscelin,  the  Church  certainly 
commanded  that  the  arrangement  should  be 
mutual,  unless  the  lady  were  of  an  age  or  a 
piety  beyond  suspicion,  as  St.  Francis  puts 
it  in  his  Rule.  Lucia  had  agreed  to  take 
the  veil  after  her  husband's  departure.  This 
was  the  news  that  withheld  the  hand  of 


1 ' 
I 


i 


6o 


Peter  Ab^lard 


"  the  smiter"  on  the  point  of  dealing  a  de- 
cisive blow,  and  he  hastened  down  to  Brit- 
tany to  bid  farewell  to  his  "most  dear 
mother,"  Not  only  in  this  expression,  but 
in  the  fact  of  his  making  the  journey  at  all 
under  the  circumstances,  we  have  evidence 
of  a  profound  affection.  Since  he  had  long 
ago  abdicated  his  rights  of  primogeniture, 
there  cannot  have  been  an  element  of  busi- 
ness in  the  visit  to  Pallet. 

He  was  not  long  absent  from  Paris.  The 
news  reached  him  in  Brittany  that  the  prior 
had  at  length  discovered  a  dignified  retreat 
from  the  field.  Soon  after  Ab^lard's  de- 
parture the  bishopric  of  Chalons-sur-Marne 
became  vacant,  and  William  was  nominated 
for  the  see.  He  bade  a  fond  farewell  to 
Paris  and  to  dialectics.  From  that  date  his 
ability  was  devoted  to  the  safe  extravagances 
of  mystic  theology,  under  the  safe  tutorship 
of  St.  Bernard.'     He   had  left  his  pupil 

'  It  will  interest  many,  however,  to  leam  (from  the  pages  of  Du 
Boulai's  Historia  Universitatis  Tarisiensis)  that  he  is  charged  by  the 
querulous  Gaufridus  Vindoniencensis  with  teaching  that  only  the  grav- 
est sins  were  matter  for  obligatory  confession.  These  particularly 
grave  transgressions  are  heresy,  schism,  paganism,  and  Judaism— all 
non-ethical  matters  ! 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     6i 

Gilduin  to  replace  him  at  St.  Victor,  and  the 
school  quickly  assumed  a  purely  theological 
character ;  but  the  luckless  chair  of  Notre 
Dame  he  entrusted  to  the  care  of  Provi- 
dence. 

Ab^lard  now  formed  a  resolution  which 
has  given  rise  to  much  speculation.     In- 
stead of  stepping  at  once  into  the  chair  of 
the  cloistral  school,  which  he  admits  was 
offered  to  him,  he  goes  off  to  some  distance 
from  Paris  for  the  purpose  of  studying  the- 
ology.   It  is  the  general  opinion  of  students 
of  his  life  that  his  main  object  in  doing 
so  was  to  make  more  secure  his  progress 
towards  the  higher  ecclesiastical  dignities. 
That  he  had  such  ambition,  and  was  not  con- 
tent with  the  mere  chair  and  chancellorship 
of  the  cloistral  school,  is  quite  clear.     In  his 
clouded  and  embittered  age  he  is  said,  on 
the  high  authority  of  Peter  of  Cluny,  to 
have  discovered  even  that  final  virtue  of 
humility.     There  are  those  who  prefer  him 
in  the  days  of  his  frank,  buoyant  pride  and 
ambition.     If  he  had  been  otherwise  in  the 
days  of  the  integrity  of  his  nature,  he  would 


62 


Peter  Ab^lard 


have  been  an  intolerable  prig.  He  was  the 
ablest  thinker  and  speaker  in  France.  He 
was  observant  enough  to  perceive  it,  and  so 
little  artificial  as  to  acknowledge  it  and  act 
in  accordance.  Yet  there  was  probably 
more  than  the  counsel  of  ambition  in  his 
resolution.  From  the  episode  of  Goswin's 
visit  to  Ste.  Genevieve  it  is  clear  that  whis- 
pers of  faith,  theology,  and  heresy  were  al- 
ready breaking  upon  the  freedom  of  his 
dialectical  speculations.  He  must  have  re- 
called the  fate  of  Scotus  Erigena,  of  Berenger, 
of  Roscelin,  and  other  philosophic  thinkers. 
Philosophic  thought  was  subtly  linked  with 
ecclesiastical  dogma.  He  who  contem- 
plated a  life  of  speculation  and  teaching 
could  not  afford  to  be  ignorant  of  the  eccle- 
siastical claims  on  and  limitations  of  his 
sphere.  Such  thoughts  can  scarcely  have 
been  unknown  to  him  during  the  preceding 
year  or  two,  and  it  seems  just  and  reason- 
able to  trace  the  issue  of  them  in  his  resolu- 
tion. He  himself  merely  says  :  'M  returned 
chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  studying  divinity." 
Hausrath  quotes  a  passage  from  his  Intro- 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     63 

ductio  ad  Theologiam  with  the  intention  of 
making  Abelard  ascribe  his  resolution  to 
the  suggestion  of  his  admirers.  On  careful 
examination  the  passage  seems  to  refer  to 
his  purpose  of  writing  on  theology,  not  to 
his  initial  purpose  of  studying  it. 

Abelard  would  naturally  look  about  for 
the  first  theological  teacher  in  France. 
There  were,  in  point  of  fact,  few  theological 
chairs  at  that  time,  but  there  was  at  least 
one  French  theologian  who  had  a  high  re- 
putation throughout  Christendom.  Pupil  of 
St.  Anselm  of  Canterbury  at  Bee,  canon  and 
dean  of  the  town  where  he  taught,  Anselm 
of  Laon  counted  so  many  brilliant  scholars 
amongst  his  followers  that  he  has  been  en- 
titled the  *'  doctor  of  doctors."  William  of 
Champeaux,  William  of  Canterbury,  and  a 
large  number  of  distinguished  masters,  sat 
at  his  feet.  His  scholia  to  the  Vulgate  were 
in  use  in  the  schools  for  centuries.  He  and 
his  brother  Raoul  had  made  Laon  a  most 
important  focus  of  theological  activity  for 
more  countries  than  France.  England  was 
well  represented  there.    John  of  Salisbury 


64 


Peter  Abelard 


frequently  has  occasion  to  illustrate  the  fame 
and  magnitude  of  the  cathedral  school. 

Anselm  had  been  teaching  for  forty  years 
when  Abelard,  cBtat.  thirty-four,  appeared 
amidst  the  crowd  of  his  hearers.    We  can 
well  conceive  the  fluttering  of  wings  that 
must  have  occurred,  but    Laon  was  not 
Pans,  and  Anselm  was  not  the  man  to  enter 
upon  an  argumentative  conflict  with  the 
shrewd-tongued  adventurer.   Two  incidents 
of  contemporary  life   at   Laon   in    which 
Anselm  figured  will  be  the  best  means  of 
illustrating  the  character  of  the  theologian 
Abbot  Guibertus,  of  that  period,  has  left 
us  a  delightful  work    De  vita  sua,  from 
which  we  learn   much   about   Laon  and 
Anselm.    The  treasure  of  the  cathedral  was 
entrusted,  it  seems,  to  seven  guardians- 
four  clerics   and   three   laymen.    One  of 
these  guardians,  a  Canon  Anselm,  was  a 
wolf  in  sheep's  clothing.    He  purloined  a 
good  deal  of  the  treasure ;  and  when  the 
goldsmith,  his  accomplice,  was  detected 
and  turned  king's  evidence,  Anselm  denied 
the  story,  challenged  the  goldsmith  to  the 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     65 

usual  duel,  and  won.^  The  canon  was 
encouraged,  and  shortly  set  up  as  an  ex- 
pert burglar.  One  dark,  stormy  night  he 
went  with  his  'Madders  and  machines"  to 
a  tower  in  which  much  treasure  was  kept, 
and  *'  cracked  "  it.  There  was  dreadful  ado 
in  the  city  next  day  ;  most  horrible  of  all, 
the  burglar  had  stolen  a  golden  dove  which 
contained  some  of  the  hair  and  some  of 
the  milk  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  In  the  un- 
certainty the  sapient  Master  Anselm  (no 
relation,  apparently,  of  Canon  Anselm 
Beessus,  the  burglar  and  cathedral  treasurer) 
was  invited  to  speak.  His  advice  largely 
reveals  the  man.  Those  were  the  days, 
it  must  be  remembered,  when  the  defects 
of  the  detective  service  were  compensated 
by  a  willingness  and  activity  of  the  higher 
powers  which  are  denied  to  this  sceptical 
age.  When  their  slender  police  resources 
were  exhausted,  the  accused  was  handed 
over  to  a  priest,  to  be  prepared,  by  prayer 

*  When  Anselm's  guilt  was  ultimately  proved,  people  were  some- 
what troubled  as  to  the  ill-success  of  their  Providential  detective 
service,  until  they  heard  that  the  goldsmith,  in  accusing  the  canon^ 
had  broken  faith  with  him. 


) 


66 


Peter  Abdlard 


and  a  sober  diet  of  bread,  herbs,  salt,  and 
water,  for  the  public  ordeal.  On  the  fourth 
day  priests  and  people  repaired  to  the 
church,  and  when  the  mass  was  over,  and 
the  vested  priests  had  prostrated  themselves 
in  the  sanctuary,  the  accused  purged  him- 
self of  the  charge  or  proved  his  guilt  by 
carrying  or  walking  on  a  nine-foot  bar  of 
heated  iron,  plunging  his  arms  ''for  an  ell 
and  a  half"  into  boiling  water,  or  being 
bodily  immersed  in  a  huge  tank,  cold,  and 
carefully  blessed  and  consecrated. 

These  are  familiar  facts.  The  difficulty  at 
Laon  was  that  there  was  no  accused  to 
operate  on.  The  Solomon  Laudunensis  was 
therefore  called  into  judgment,  and  his  pro- 
posal certainly  smacks  of  the  thoroughness 
of  the  systematic  theologian.  A  baby  was 
to  be  taken  from  each  parish  of  the  town, 
and  tried  by  the  ordeal  of  immersion.  When 
the  guilty  parish  had  been  thus  discovered, 
each  family  in  it  was  to  purge  itself  by 
sending  an  infant  representative  to  the  tank.^ 

'  Luckily  the  citizen-parents  were  wiser  than  their  Solomon  for  once. 
They  proposed  that  the  process  should  commence  with  the  seven 
treasurers.     In  spite  of  preliminary  experiments  in  private  the  canon 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     67 

When  the  guilt  had  been  thus  fastened  on 
a  certain  house,  all  its  inmates  were  to  be 
put  to  the  ordeal. 

We  see  Anselm  in  a  very  different  light  in 
an  incident  that  occurred  a  year  or  two  be- 
fore Ab^lard's  arrival.  Through  the  influ- 
ence of  the  King  of  England  and  the  perennial 
power  of  gold  a  wholly  unworthy  bishop 
had  been  thrust  upon  the  people  of  Laon. 
Illiterate,  worldly,  and  much  addicted  to 
military  society,  he  was  extremely  distaste- 
ful to  Anselm  and  the  theologians.  The 
crisis  came  when  the  English  King,  Henry 
I.,  tried  to  levy  a  tax  on  the  people  of  Laon. 
The  bishop  supported  his  patron  ;  Anselm 
and  others  sternly  opposed  the  tax  in  the 
name  of  the  people.  Feeling  ran  so  high 
that  the  bishop  was  at  length  brutally  mur- 
dered by  some  of  the  townsfolk,  and  the 
cathedral  was  burned  to  the  ground.  Anselm 
immediately,  and  almost  alone,  went  forth 


was  convicted.  But  the  reader  must  go  to  the  pious  Geoflfroy's 
narrative  {Migne,  vol.  156,  col.  loii)  to  read  how  the  burglar  was 
tortured,  how  he  obtained  release  fo>  a  time  by  trickery,  and  how, 
being  unable  to  sleep  at  night  for  a  miraculous  dove,  he  finally  con- 
fessed and  restored. 


68 


Peter  Abelard 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     69 


to  denounce  the  frenzied  mob,  and  had  the 
unfortunate  prelate—  left  for  the  dogs  to  de- 
vour before  his  house — quietly  buried. 

Such  was  the  man  whom  Abelard  chose 
as  his  next,  and  last,  ''  teacher."  In  the  cir- 
cumstances revealed  in  the  above  anecdotes 
it  would  have  been  decidedly  dangerous  to 
attack  Anselm  in  the  manner  that  had  suc- 
ceeded so  well  at  Notre  Dame.  There  is, 
however,  no  just  reason  for  thinking  that 
Abelard  had  formed  an  intention  of  that 
kind.  No  doubt  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
Abelard  in  the  attitude  of  one  who  seriously 
expected  instruction  from  a  master.  Yet  it 
would  be  unjust  to  assume  that  he  ap- 
proached the  class-room  of  the  venerable, 
authoritative  theologian  in  the  same  spirit 
in  which  he  had  approached  William  of 
Champeaux's  lectures  on  rhetoric.  We  do 
not  find  it  recorded  that  he  made  any  at- 
tempt to  assail  directly  the  high  position  of 
the  old  man.  It  was  sufficient  for  the  pur- 
pose we  may  ascribe  to  him  that  he  should 
be  able  to  state  in  later  years  that  he  had 
frequented  the  lectures  of  Anselm  of  Laon. 


With  whatever  frame  of  mind  the  critic 
came  to  Laon,  he  was  not  long  in  discover- 
ing the  defects  of  Anselm 's  teaching.  An- 
selm had  one  gift,  a  good  memory,  and  its 
fruit,  patristic  erudition.  The  fame  that  was 
borne  over  seas  and  mountains  was  founded 
mainly  on  the  marvellous  wealth  of  patristic 
opinion  which  he  applied  to  every  text  of 
Scripture.  There  was  no  individuality,  no 
life,  in  his  work.  To  Abelard  the  mnemonic 
feat  was  a  mechanical  matter ;  and  indeed 
he  probably  cared  little  at  that  time  how  St. 
Ambrose  or  St.  Cyril  may  have  interpreted 
this  or  that  text.  Little  as  he  would  be 
disposed  to  trust  the  fame  of  masters  after 
his  experience,  he  tells  us  that  he  was  dis- 
appointed. He  found  the  *' fig-tree  to  be 
without  fruit,"  fair  and  promising  as  it  had 
seemed.  The  lamp  that  was  said  to  il- 
lumine theological  Christendom,  ''  merely 
filled  the  house  with  smoke,  not  light."  He 
found,  in  the  words  of  his  favourite  Lucan, 

"  magni  nominis  umbra, 
Qualis  frugifero  quercus  sublimis  in  agro  "  ; 

and  he  determined  **notto  remain  in  this 


70 


Peter  Ab^lard 


idleness  under  its  shade  very  long."  With 
his  usual  heedlessness  he  frankly  expressed 
his  estimate  of  the  master  to  his  fellow- 
pupils. 

One  day  when  they  were  joking  together 
at  the  end  of  the  lecture,  and  the  students 
were  twitting  him  with  his  neglect  of  the 
class,  he  quietly  dropped  a  bomb  to  the  ef- 
fect that  he  thought  masters  of  theology 
were  superfluous.  With  the  text  and  the 
ordinary  glosses  any  man  of  fair  intelligence 
could  study  theology  for  himself.  He  was 
contemptuously  invited  to  give  a  practical 
illustration  of  his  theory.  Abelard  took  the 
sneer  seriously,  and  promised  to  lecture  on 
any  book  of  Scripture  they  cared  to  choose. 
Continuing  the  joke,  they  chose  the  curious 
piece  of  Oriental  work  that  has  the  title  of 
Ezechiel.  Once  more  Abelard  took  them 
seriously,  asked  for  the  text  and  gloss,  and 
invited  them  to  attend  his  first  lecture,  on 
the  most  abstruse  of  the  prophets,  on  the 
following  day.  Most  of  them  persisted  in 
treating  the  matter  as  a  joke,  but  a  few  ap- 
peared at  the  appointed  spot  (in  Anselm's 


Progress  of  the  Academic  War     71 

own  territory)  on  the  following  day.  They 
listened  in  deep  surprise  to  a  profound  lecture 
on  the  prophet  from  the  new  and  self-con- 
secrated theologus.  The  next  day  there 
was  a  larger  audience ;  the  lecture  was 
equally  astonishing.  In  fine,  Abelard  was 
soon  in  full  sail  as  a  theological  lector  of  the 
first  rank,  and  a  leakage  was  noticed  in 
Anselm's  lecture  hall. 

Abelard's  theological  success  at  Laon  was 
brief,  if  brilliant.  Two  of  the  leading 
scholars,  Alberic  of  Rheims  and  Lotulphe 
of  Novare,  urged  Anselm  to  suppress  the 
new  movement  at  once.  Seven  years  later 
we  shall  meet  Alberic  and  Lotulphe  playing 
an  important  part  in  the  tragedy  of  Abelard's 
life ;  later  still  Alberic  is  found  in  intimacy 
with  St.  Bernard.  The  episode  of  Laon  must 
not  be  forgotten.  Probably  Anselm  needed 
little  urging,  with  the  fate  of  William  of 
Champeaux  fresh  in  his  ears.  At  all  events 
he  gave  willing  audience  to  the  suggestion 
that  a  young  master,  without  due  theologi- 
cal training,  might  at  any  moment  bring  the 
disgrace  of  heresy  on  the  famous  school. 


72 


Peter  Abdlard 


He  ''had  the  impudence  to  suppress  me," 
Aboard  has  the  impudence  to  say.  The 
students  are  said  to  have  been  much  angered 
by  Anselm's  interference,  but  there  was  no 
Ste.  Genevieve  at  Laon,— happily,  perhaps, 
—and  Ab^lard  presently  departed  for  Paris, 
leaving  the  field  to  the  inglorious  ''  Pompey 
the  Great." 


Chapter  IV 

The  Idol  of  Paris 

A  NEW  age  began  for  Paris  and  for  learning 
^  when  Peter  Abelard  accepted  the  chair 
of  the  episcopal  school.  It  would  be  a  dif- 
ficult task  to  measure  the  influence  he  had 
in  hastening  the  foundation  of  the  university 
—  as  difficult  as  to  estimate  the  enduring 
effect  of  his  teaching  on  Catholic  theology. 
There  were  other  streams  flowing  into  the 
life  of  the  period,  and  they  would  have  ex- 
panded and  deepened  it,  independently  of 
the  activity  of  the  one  brilliant  teacher.  The 
work  of  a  group  of  less  gifted,  though  highly 
gifted,  teachers  had  started  a  current  of 
mental  life  which  would  have  continued  and 
broadened  without  the  aid  of  Abelard.  Life 
was  entering  upon  a  swifter  course  in  all  its 
reaches.  Moreover,  the  slender  rill  of  Greek 
thought,  which  formed  the  inspiration  of  the 

73 


74 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


75 


m 


eleventh  century,  was  beginning  to  increase. 
Through  Alexandria,  through  Arabia, 
through  Spain,  the  broad  stream  of  the 
wisdom  of  the  Greeks  had  been  slowly 
travelling  with  the  centuries.  In  the 
twelfth  century  it  was  crossing  the  Py- 
renees, and  stealing  into  the  jealous  schools 
of  Europe.  The  homeless  Jew  was  bring- 
ing the  strong,  swift,  noble  spirit  of  the 
''infidel  Moor"  into  a  hideous  world,  that 
was  blind  with  self-complacency.  The 
higher  works  of  Aristotle  (the  early  Mid- 
dle Ages  had  only  his  logic),  the  words 
of  Plato,  and  so  many  others,  were  drift- 
ing into  France.  Christian  scholars  were 
even  beginning  to  think  of  going  to  see 
with  their  own  eyes  this  boasted  civilisation 
of  the  infidel. 

Yet  it  is  clear  that  Abelard  stands  for  a 
mighty  force  in  the  story  of  development. 
At  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century  Paris 
was  an  island ;  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth 
century  it  was  a  city  of  two  hundred  thou- 
sand souls,  walled,  paved,  with  several  fine 
buildings  and  a  fair  organisation.     At  the 


end  of  the  eleventh  century  the  schools  of 
Paris,  scattered  here  and  there,  counted  a 
few  hundred  pupils,  chiefly  French  ;  at 
the  end  of  the  twelfth  century  the  Uni- 
versity of  Paris  must  have  numbered  not 
far  short  of  ten  thousand  scholars.  Let 
us  see  how  much  of  this  was  effected  by 
Abelard. 

The  pupil  who  had  left  Paris  when  both 
William  and  Aboard  disappeared  in  1113 
would  find  a  marvellous  change  on  return- 
ing to.it  about  1116  or  11 17.  He  would 
find  the  lecture  hall  and  the  cloister  and  the 
quadrangle,  under  the  shadow  of  the  great 
cathedral,  filled  with  as  motley  a  crowd  of 
youths  and  men  as  any  scene  in  France 
could  show.  Little  groups  of  French  and 
Norman  and  Breton  nobles  chattered  to- 
gether in  their  bright  silks  and  fur-tipped 
mantles,  and  with  slender  swords  dangling 
from  embroidered  belts;  ''shaven  in  front 
like  thieves,  and  growing  luxuriant,  curly 
tresses  at  the  back  like  harlots,"  growls 
Jacques  de  Vitry,  who  saw  them,  vying  with 
each  other  in  the  length  and  crookedness 


> 


76 


Peter  Ab^lard 


of  their  turned-up  shoes.^  Anglo-Saxons 
looked  on,  in  long  fur-lined  cloaks,  tight 
breeches,  and  leathern  hose  swathed  with 
bands  of  many-coloured  cloth.  Stern-faced 
northerners,  Poles,  and  Germans,  in  fur  caps 
and  coloured  girdles  and  clumsy  shoes,  or 
with  feet  roughly  tied  up  in  the  bark  of 
trees,  waited  impatiently  for  the  announce- 
ment of  Li  Mestre.  Pale-faced  southern- 
ers had  braved  the  Alps  and  the  Pyrenees 
under  the  fascination  of  ''the  wizard." 
Shaven  and  sandalled  monks,  black-habited 
clerics,  black  canons,  secular  and  regular, 
black  in  face,  too,  some  of  them,  heresy- 
hunters  from  the  neighbouring  abbey  of 
St.  Victor,  mingled  with  the  crowd  of 
young  and  old,  grave  and  gay,  beggars 
and  nobles,  sleek  citizens  and  bronzed 
peasants. 

Crevier  and  other  writers  say  that  Ab61ard 
had  attracted  five  thousand  students  to 
Paris.    Sceptics  smile,  and  talk  of  Chinese 

*  The  Count  of  Anjou  had  just  invented  them  to  hide  the  enormity 
of  his  bunions.  Rattering  courtiers  found  them  excellent.  The  Eng- 
lish King's  jester  had  exaggerated  the  turned-up  points,  and  the  nobles 
were  driving  the  practice  to  death,  as  is  the  aristocratic  wont 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


77 


genealogies.  Mr.  Rashdall,  however,  has 
made  a  careful  study  of  the  point,  and  he 
concludes  that  there  were  certainly  five 
thousand,  and  possibly  seven  thousand, 
students  at  Paris  in  the  early  scholastic  age, 
before  the  multiplication  of  important  cen- 
tres. He  points  out  that  the  fabulous  figures 
which  are  sometimes  given  —  Wycliffe  says 
that  at  one  time  there  were  sixty  thousand 
students  at  Oxford,  Juvenal  de  Ursinis  gives 
twenty  thousand  at  Paris  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  Italian  historians  speak  of  fifteen 
thousand  at  Bologna  —  always  refer  to  a 
date  beyond  the  writer's  experience,  and 
frequently  betray  a  touch  of  the  laudator 
temporis  acti.  It  is,  at  all  events,  safe  to 
affirm  that  Abelard's  students  were  counted 
by  thousands,  if  they  had  not  ''come  to 
surpass  the  number  of  the  laity  ''  (ordinary 
citizens),  as  an  old  writer  declares.  Philippe 
Auguste  had  to  direct  a  huge  expansion  of 
the  city  before  the  close  of  the  century. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  commercial  or  po- 
litical development  of  Paris  to  explain  the 
magnitude  of  this  expansion.      It  was  a 


78 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


79 


W 


consequence  of  a  vast  influx  of  students 
from  all  quarters  of  the  globe,  and  the  fame 
of  Master  Abelard  had  determined  the  course 
of  the  stream. 

One  condition  reacted  on  another.  A 
notable  gathering  of  students  attracted 
Jews  and  merchants  in  greater  numbers. 
They,  in  turn,  created  innumerable  '*  wants  " 
amongst  the  *' undisciplined  horde."  The 
luxuries  and  entertainments  of  youth  began 
to  multiply.  The  schools  of  Paris  began  to 
look  fair  in  the  eyes  of  a  second  world  —  a 
world  of  youths  and  men  who  had  not  felt 
disposed  to  walk  hundreds  of  miles  and 
endure  a  rude  life  out  of  academic  affection. 
The  ''dancers  of  Orleans,"  the  ''tennis- 
players  of  Poitiers,"  the  "  lovers  of  Turin," 
came  to  fraternise  with  the  "dirty  fellows 
of  Paris."  Over  mountains  and  over  seas 
the  mingled  reputation  of  the  city  and  the 
school  was  carried,  and  a  remarkable  stream 
set  in  from  Germany,  Switzerland,  Italy 
(even  from  proud  Rome),  Spain,  and  Eng- 
land ;  even  "distant  Brittany  sent  you  its 
animals    to  be  instructed,"    wrote    Prior 


Pulques  to  Abelard  (a  Breton)  a  year  or 
two  afterwards. 

At  five  or  six  o'clock  each  morning  the 
great  cathedral  bell  would  ring  out  the  sum- 
mons to  work.  From  the  neighbouring 
houses  of  the  canons,  from  the  cottages  of 
the  townsfolk,  from  the  taverns  and  hos- 
pices and  boarding-houses,  the  stream  of 
the  industrious  would  pour  into  the  en- 
closure beside  the  cathedral.  The  master's 
beadle,  who  levied  a  precarious  tax  on  the 
mob,  would  strew  the  floor  of  the  lecture 
hall  with  hay  or  straw,  according  to  the 
season,  bring  the  master's  text-book,  with 
the  notes  of  the  lecture  between  lines  or 
on  the  margin,  to  the  solitary  desk,  and 
then  retire  to  secure  silence  in  the  adjoining 
street.  Sitting  on  their  haunches  in  the 
hay,  the  right  knee  raised  to  serve  as  a 
desk  for  the  waxed  tablets,  the  scholars 
would  take  notes  during  the  long  hours  of 
lecture  (about  six  or  seven),  then  hurry 
home— if  they  were  industrious— to  com- 
mit them  to  parchment  while  the  light  lasted. 

The  lecture  over,  the  stream  would  flow 


8o 


Peter  Abelard 


back  over  the  Little  Bridge,  filling  the  tav- 
erns and  hospices,  and  pouring  out  over  the 
great  playing  meadow,  that  stretched  from 
the  island  to  the  present  Champ  de  Mars. 
All  the  games  of  Europe  were  exhibited 
on  that  international  playground  :  running, 
jumping,   wrestling,   hurling,  fishing  and 
swimming  in  the  Seine,  tossing  and  thump- 
ing the  inflated  ball,— a  game  on   which 
some  minor  poet  of  the  day  has  left  us  an 
enthusiastic  lyric,— and  especially  the  great 
game  of  war,  in  its  earlier  and  less  civilised 
form.    The  nations  were  not  yet  system- 
atically grouped,  and   long  and  frequent 
were  the  dangerous  conflicts.    The  under- 
graduate mind  though  degrees  had  not  yet 
been  invented  had  drawn  up  an  estimate, 
pithy,  pointed,  and  not  flattering,  of  each 
nationality.    The  English  were,  it  is  sad  to 
find,   ''cowardly  and  drunken," — to  the 
*'  Anglophobes  "  ;  the  French  were  "  proud 
and  effeminate  "  ;  the  Normans,  *'  charlatans 
and  boasters";  the  Burgundians,  "brutal  and 
stupid  " ;  the  Bretons,  ''  fickle  and  extra- 
vagant";   the    Flemings,    ''bloodthirsty. 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


8i 


thievish,  and  incendiary";  the  Germans, 
"  choleric,  gluttonous,  and  dirty  "  ;  the 
Lombards,  "covetous,  malicious,  and  no 
fighters"  ;  the  Romans,  "seditious,  violent, 
and  slanderous."  Once  those  war-cries 
were  raised,  peaceable  folk  hied  them  to 
their  homes  and  hovels,  and  the  governor 
summoned  his  guards  and  archers. 

The  centre  of  this  nuge  and  novel  con- 
course was  the  master  of  the  cathedral 
school.  After  long  years  of  conventual  life 
Heloise  draws  a  remarkable  picture  of  the 
attitude  of  Paris  towards  its  idol.  Women 
ran  to  their  doors  and  windows  to  gaze  at 
him,  as  he  passed  from  his  house  on  Ste. 
Genevieve  to  the  school.  "  Who  was 
there  that  did  not  hasten  to  observe  when 
you  went  abroad,  and  did  not  follow  you 
with  strained  neck  and  staring  eyes  as  you 
passed  along  ?  What  wife,  what  virgin, 
did  not  burn  ?  What  queen  or  noble  dame 
did  not  envy  my  fortune  ?  "  And  we  shall 
presently  read  of  a  wonderful  outburst  of 
grief  when  the  news  of  the  outrage  done  to 
Abelard  flies  through  the  city.    "  No  man 


82 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


83 


was  ever  more  loved— and  more  hated," 
says  the  sober  Hausrath. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  the  charm 
of  Abelard's  teaching.  Three  qualities  are 
assigned  to  it  by  the  winters  of  the  period, 
some  of  whom  studied  at  his  feet ;  clear- 
ness, richness  in  imagery,  and  lightness  of 
touch  are  said  to  have  been  the  chief  char- 
acteristics of  his  teaching.  Clearness  is,  in- 
deed, a  quality  of  his  written  works,  though 
they  do  not,  naturally,  convey  an  impres- 
sion of  his  oral  power.  His  splendid  gifts 
and  versatility,  supported  by  a  rich  voice,  a 
charming  personality,  a  ready  and  sympa- 
thetic use  of  human  literature,  and  a  free- 
dom from  excessive  piety,  gave  him  an 
immeasurable  advantage  over  all  the  teach- 
ers of  the  day.  Beside  most  of  them,  he 
was  as  a  butterfly  to  an  elephant.  A  most 
industrious  study  of  the  few  works  of 
Aristotle  and  of  the  Roman  classics  that 
were  available,  a  retentive  memory,  an 
ease  in  manipulating  his  knowledge,  a 
clear,  penetrating  mind,  with  a  correspond- 
ing clearness  of  expression,  a  ready  and 


productive  fancy,  a  great  knowledge  of 
men,  a  warmer  interest  in  things  human  than 
in  things  divine,  a  laughing  contempt  for  au- 
thority, a  handsome  presence,  and  a  musi- 
cal delivery— these  were  his  gifts.  His  only 
defects  were  defects  of  character,  and  the 
circumstances  of  his  life  had  not  yet  revealed 
them  even  to  himself. 

Even  the  monkish  writers  of  the  Life  of 
St.  Goswin,  whose  attitude  towards  his  per- 
son is  clear,  grant  him  **a  sublime  elo- 
quence." The  epitaphs  that  men  raised 
over  him,  the  judgments  of  episcopal  Otto 
of  Freising  and  John  of  Salisbury,  the 
diplomatic  letter  of  Prior  Pulques,  the  refer- 
ences of  all  the  chroniclers  of  the  time,  I 
refrain  from  quoting.  We  learn  his  power 
best  from  his  open  enemies.  ''Wizard," 
''rhinoceros,"  "smiter,"  "friend  of  the 
devil,"  "giant,"  "Titan,"  "Prometheus," 
and  "  Proteus,"  are  a  few  of  their  compli- 
ments to  his  ability  ;  the  mellifluous  St, 
Bernard  alone  would  provide  a  rich  vocab- 
ulary of  flattering  encomiums  of  that  char- 
acter :   "  Goliath,"  "  Herod,"  "  Leviathan," 


84 


Peter  Ab^lard 


''bee,"  ''serpent,"  "dragon,"  "hydra," 
"  Absalom,"  are  some  of  his  epithets.  When, 
later,  we  find  St.  Bernard,  the  first  orator 
and  firmest  power  in  France,  shrink  nerv- 
ously from  an  oral  encounter  with  him,  and 
resort  to  measures  which  would  be  branded 
as  dishonourable  in  any  other  man,  we  shall 
more  faithfully  conceive  the  charm  of  Abe- 
lard's  person  and  the  fascination  of  his 
lectures. 

Yet  no  careful  student  of  his  genius  will 
accept  the  mediaeval  estimate  which  made 
him  the  "Socrates  of  Gaul,"  the  peer  of 
Plato  and  of  Aristotle.  He  had  wonderful 
penetration  and  a  rare  felicity  of  oral  ex- 
pression, but  he  was  far  removed  from  the 
altitude  of  Socrates  and  Plato  and  the 
breadth  of  Aristotle.  He  had  no  "  system  " 
of  thought,  philosophical  or  theological ;  and 
into  the  physical  and  social  world  he  never 
entered.  His  ideas  —  and  some  of  them 
were  leagues  beyond  his  intellectual  sur- 
roundings—  came  to  him  piecemeal.  Yet 
we  shall  see  that  in  some  of  those  which 
were  most  abhorrent  to  Bernard—  who  was 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


85 


the  Church  for  the  time  being— he  did  but 
anticipate  the  judgment  of  mature  humanity 
on  certain  ethical  and  intellectual  features  of 
traditional  lore.  The  thesis  cannot  be  satis- 
factorily established  until  a  later  stage. 

When  we  proceed  to  examine  the  erudi- 
tion which  gave  occasion  to  the  epitaph, 
"To  him  alone  was  made  clear  all  that  is 
knowable,"  we  must  bear  in  mind  the  lim- 
itations of  his  world.  When  Aristotle  lent 
his  mind  to  the  construction  of  a  world  sys- 
tem, he  had  the  speculations  of  two  cent- 
uries of  Greek  thinkers  before  him  ;  when 
Thomas  of  Aquin  began  to  write,  he  had 
read  the  thoughts  of  three  generations  of 
schoolmen  after  Ab^lard  and  all  the  Arabic 
translations  and  incorporations  of  Greek 
thought.  At  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth 
century  there  was  little  to  read  beside  the 
fathers.  If  we  take  "all  that  was  know- 
able"  in  this  concrete  and  relative  sense, 
the  high-sounding  epitaph  is  not  far  above 
the  truth. 

His  Latin  is  much  better  than  that  of  the 
great  majority  of  his  contemporaries.  Judged 


86 


Peter  Abelard 


by  a  perfect  classical  standard  it  is  defective; 
it  admits  some  of  the  erroneous  forms  that 
are  characteristic  of  the  age.  But  it  is  not 
without  elegance,  and  it  excels  in  clearness 
and  elasticity.  It  could  not  well  be  other- 
wise, seeing  his  wide  and  familiar  acquaint- 
ance with  Latin  literature.  He  frequently 
quotes  Lucan,  Ovid,  Horace,  Vergil,  and 
Cicero;  students  of  his  writings  usually 
add  an  acquaintance  with  Juvenal,  Per- 
sius,  Statins,  Suetonius,  Valerius,  Maximus, 
Quintilian,  and  Priscian.  It  was  a  frequent 
charge  in  the  mouths  of  his  enemies  that  he 
quoted  the  lewdest  books  of  Ovid  in  the 
course  of  his  interpretation  of  Scripture. 
The  constant  glance  aside  at  the  literature 
of  human  passion  and  the  happy  flash  of 
wit  were  not  small  elements  in  his  success. 
Those  who  came  to  him  from  other  schools 
had  heard  little  but  the  wearisome  iteration 
of  Boetius,  Cassiodorus,  and  Martianus 
Capella.  They  found  the  new  atmosphere 
refreshing  and  stimulating. 

His  command  of  Greek  and  Hebrew  is  a 
subject  of  endless  dispute.   His  pupil  Heloise 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


87 


certainly  had  a  knowledge  of  the  two 
tongues,  as  we  shall  see  presently.  She 
must  have  received  her  instruction  from 
Abelard.  But  it  is  clear  that  Abelard  likes  to 
approach  a  controversy  which  turns  on  the 
interpretation  of  the  original  text  of  Scripture 
through  a  third  person,  such  as  St.  Jerome. 
He  rarely  approaches  even  the  easy  Greek 
text  of  the  New  Testament  directly  and  he  has 
no  immediate  acquaintance  with  any  Greek 
author.  Aristotle  he  has  read  in  the  Latin 
translation  of  Boetius,  through  whose  medi- 
ation he  has  also  read  Porphyry's  Isagoge, 
He  was  certainly  familiar  with  the  De  Inter- 
pretatione  and  the  Categories;  Cousin  grants 
him  also  an  acquaintance  with  the  Prior 
Analytics;  and  Brucker  and  others  would 
add  the  Sophistici  Elenchi  and  the  Topics. 
The  physical  and  metaphysical  works  of 
Aristotle  were  proscribed  at  Paris  long  after 
the  Jewish  and  Arabian  translations  had 
found  a  way  into  other  schools  of  France. 
The  golden  thoughts  of  Plato  came  to  him 
through  the  writings  of  the  fathers  ;  though 
there  is  said  to  have  been  a  translation  of 


88 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


89 


the  TimcBus  in  France  early  in  the  twelfth 
century. 

His  knowledge  of  Hebrew  must  have  been 
equally,  or  even  more,  elementary.  Only 
once  does  he  clearly  approach  the  Hebrew 
text  without  patristic  guidance  ;  it  is  when, 
in  answering  one  (the  thirty-sixth)  of  the 
famous  ''Problems  of  Heloise,"  he  adduces 
the  authority  of ''  a  certain  Hebrew,"  whom 
he  ''  heard  discussing  the  point."  In  this  we 
have  a  clear  clue  to  the  source  of  his  Hebrew. 
The  Jews  were  very  numerous  in  Paris  in  the 
twelfth  century.  When  Innocent  the  Sec- 
ond visited  Paris  in  1 131,  the  Jews  met  him 
at  St.  Denis,  and  offered  him  a  valuable  roll 
of  the  law.  By  the  time  of  Philippe  Auguste 
they  are  said  to  have  owned  two  thirds  of 
the  city  :  perceiving  which,  Philippe  recol- 
lected, or  was  reminded,  that  they  were  the 
murderers  of  Christ,  and  so  he  banished 
them  and  retained  their  goods.  Ab^lard  in- 
dicates that  they  took  part  in  the  intellectual 
life  of  Paris  in  his  day  ;  in  Spain  they  were 
distinguished  in  every  branch  of  higher 
thought;    and    thus   the    opportunity    of 


learning  Hebrew  lay  close  at  hand.  One  does 
not  see  why  R^musat  and  others  should 
deny  him  any  acquaintance  with  it.  His 
knowledge,  however,  must  have  been  ele- 
mentary. He  does  not  make  an  impressive, 
though  a  novel,  use  of  it  in  deriving  the 
name  of  Heloise  (Helwide,  or  Helwise,  or 
Louise)  from  Elohim,  which  he  does,  years 
afterwards,  in  the  sober  solitude  of  his  abbey 
and  the  coldness  of  his  mutilation. 

Add  an  extensive  acquaintance  with 
Scripture  and  the  fathers,  and  the  inventory 
is  complete.  Not  difficult  to  be  erudite  in 
those  days,  most  people  will  reflect.  Well, 
a  phonogram  may  be  erudite.  The  gifts  of 
Ab^lard  were  of  a  higher  order  than  industry 
and  memory,  though  he  possessed  both. 
He  takes  his  place  in  history,  apart  from  the 
ever-interesting  drama  and  the  deep  pathos 
of  his  life,  in  virtue  of  two  distinctions. 
They  are,  firstly,  an  extraordinary  ability  in 
imparting  such  knowledge  as  the  poverty  of 
the  age  afforded— the  facts  of  his  career  re- 
veal it ;  and,  secondly,  a  mind  of  such  mar- 
vellous penetration  that  it  conceived  great 


Ifii 


90 


Peter  Abelard 


truths  which  it  has  taken  humanity  seven  or 
eight  centuries  to  see — this  will  appear  as 
we  proceed.  It  was  the  former  of  these 
gifts  that  made  him,  in  literal  truth,  the 
centre  of  learned  and  learning  Christendom, 
the  idol  of  several  thousand  eager  scholars. 
Nor,  finally,  were  these  thousands  the 
'*  horde  of  barbarians  "  that  jealous  Master 
Roscelin  called  them.  It  has  been  estimated 
that  a  pope,  nineteen  cardinals,  and  more 
than  fifty  bishops  and  archbishops  were  at 
one  time  among  his  pupils. 

We  are  now  at,  or  near,  the  year  1118. 
In  the  thirty-ninth  year  of  his  age,  the 
twenty-third  year  of  his  scholastic  activity, 
Abelard  has  reached  the  highest  academic 
position  in  Christendom.  He  who  loved  so 
well,  and  so  naturally,  to  be  admired,  found 
himself  the  centre  of  a  life  that  had  not  been 
seen  since  Greek  sages  poured  out  wisdom 
in  the  painted  colonnade,  and  the  marble 
baths,  and  the  shady  groves  of  Athens.  His 
self-esteem  was  flattered ;  his  love  of  rule 
and  of  eminence  was  gratified.  Poor  as 
many  of  his   pupils  were,  their   number 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


91 


brought  him  great  wealth.  His  refinement 
had  ample  means  of  solacing  its  desires. 
The  petty  vexations  of  the  struggle  were 
nobly  compensated.  Before  him  lay  a  world 
of  fairest  promise  into  which  he,  seemingly, 
had  but  to  enter.  Then  there  arose  one  of 
the  forces  that  shattered  his  life,  beginning 
its  embodiment  in  an  idyll,  ending  quickly 
in  a  lurid  tragedy.  It  is  the  most  difficult 
stage  in  the  story  of  Abelard.  I  approach  it 
only  in  the  spirit  of  the  artist,  purposing 
neither  to  excuse  nor  to  accuse,  but  only  to 
trace,  if  I  may,  the  development  of  a  soul. 

Ab^lard's  life  had  until  now  been  purely 
spiritual,  almost  wholly  intellectual.  His  de- 
fects were  spiritual— conceit  and  ambition ;  if, 
as  men  assure  us,  it  is  a  defect  to  recognise 
that  you  have  a  supra-normal  talent,  and  to 
strive  for  the  pre-eminence  it  entitles  you  to. 
The  idealist  spirit  in  which  he  had  turned 
away  from  the  comfort  and  quiet  of  the 
chateau  had  remained  thus  far  the  one  fire 
that  consumed  his  energy.  In  the  pretty 
theory  of  Plato,  his  highest  soul  had  silenced 
the  lower,  and  reduced  the  lowest  to  the 


92 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


93 


barest  requisite  play  of  vegetative  life.  There 
are  men  who  go  through  life  thus.  The 
scientist  would  crudely— it  is  the  fashion  to 
say'*  crudely''  — explain  that  the  supra- 
normal  activity  of  the  upper  part  of  the 
nervous  system  made  the  action  of  the  lower 
part  infra-normal ;  but  let  us  keep  on  the 
spiritual  plane.  There  are  men  whose  soul 
is  so  absorbed  in  study  or  in  contemplation 
that  love  never  reaches  their  consciousness; 
or  if  it  does,  its  appeal  is  faint,  and  quickly 
rejected.  The  condition  of  such  a  life, 
highly  prized  as  it  is  by  many,  is  constant 
intellectual  strain. 

Ab^lard  had  now  arrived  at  a  point  when 
the  mental  strain  began  instinctively  to  relax, 
Wealth  would  inevitably  bring  more  sensu- 
ous pleasure  into  his  life.  He  was  not  one 
of  the  ''  purely  intellectual "  ;  he  had  a  warm 
imagination  and  artistic  power.  No  imme- 
diate purpose  called  for  mental  concentra- 
tion. Sensuous  enjoyment  crept  over  the 
area  of  his  conscious  life.  During  a  large 
proportion  of  his  time,  too,  he  was  following 
with  sympathy  the  quickening  life  of  the 


passionate  creations  of  Ovid  and  Vergil  and 
Lucan.  The  inner  judge,  the  sterner  I,  is 
indisposed  to  analyse,  unless  education,  or 
faith,  or  circumstance  has  laid  a  duty  of 
severer  watchfulness  upon  it.  Blending 
with  other  and  not  alarming  sensuous  feel- 
ings, veiling  itself,  and  gently,  subtly  pass- 
ing its  sweet  fire  into  the  veins,  the  coming 
of  love  is  unperceived  until  it  is  already 
strong  to  exert  a  numbing  influence  on  the 
mind.  Ab^lard  awoke  one  day  to  a  con- 
sciousness that  a  large  part  of  the  new 
sweetness  that  pervaded  his  life  was  due  to 
the  birth  of  a  new  power  in  his  soul— a 
power  as  elusive  to  recognition  as  it  is  im- 
perious in  its  demands.  Then  is  the  trial  of 
the  soul. 

Before  quoting  Ab^lard's  confession  with 
respect  to  this  transformation  of  his  char- 
acter, it  is  necessary,  out  of  justice  to  him, 
to  anticipate  a  little,  in  indicating  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  making  of  the  confession. 
The  long  letter  which  Abelard  entitled 
the  Storf  of  my  Calamities  was  written 
twelve  or  thirteen  years  after  these  events. 


94 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


95 


By  that  time  he  had  not  only  endured  a 
succession  of  cruel  persecutions,  but  his 
outlook  on  life  and  on  self  had  been  entirely 
changed.  Not  only  had  the  memory  of  the 
events  faded  somewhat,  but  he  had  become 
colour-blind  in  an  important  sense.  A  fright- 
ful mutilation  had  distorted  his  physical  and 
psychic  nature.  Partly  from  this  cause  and 
partly  under  the  stress  of  other  circum- 
stances, he  had  become  a  Puritan  of  the 
Puritans,  an  ascetical  hermit.  As  is  the 
wont  of  such,  he  manifests  a  tendency  to 
exaggerate  the  shadows  cast  by  actions  of 
his  which  he  can  no  longer  understand  ;  for 
nature  has  withdrawn  her  inspiration.  On 
the  point  we  are  considering  he  does  not 
evince  the  smallest  desire  of  concealment  or 
palliation,  but  rather  the  reverse.  And, 
finally,  the  letter,  though  written  ostensibly 
for  the  solace  of  a  friend  in  distress,  was 
clearly  written  for  circulation,  and  for  the 
conciliation  of  the  gentler  of  the  Puritans, 
who  knew  his  life  well. 

After  speaking  of  the  wealth  and  fame  he 
had  attained,  he  says  : 


"  But  since  prosperity  ever  puffs  up  the  fool,  and 
worldly  ease  dissolves  the  vigour  of  the  mind,  and 
quickly  enervates  it  by  carnal  allurements  ;  now  that 
I  thought  myself  to  be  the  only  philosopher  in  the 
world,  and  feared  no  further  menace  to  my  position, 
whereas  I  had  hitherto  lived  most  continently,  I  began 
to  loose  the  rein  to  passion.     And  the  further  I  had 
advanced  in  philosophy  and  in  reading  Holy  Writ,  so 
much  the  wider  did  I  depart  from  philosophers  and 
divines  by  the  uncleanness  of  my  life.     It  is   well 
known  to  thee  that  philosophers  and  divines  have 
ever  been  distinguished  for  this  virtue  of  continence. 
But,  whilst  I  was  thus  wholly  taken  up  with  pride 
and  lust,  the  grace  of  God  brought  me  a  remedy,  un- 
willing as  I  was,  for  both  maladies  ;  for  lust  first,  and 
then  for  pride.     For  lust,  by  depriving  me  of  its  in- 
strument ;  for  pride  — the  pride  which  was  chiefly 
born  of  my  knowledge  of  le.ters,  according  to  the 
word  of  the  Apostle,   '  knowledge  puffeth  up  '  —  by 
humbling  me  in  the  burning  of  the  book  by  which  I 
set  such  store.     And  now  I  would  have  thee  learn  the 
truth  of  both  these  stories,  from  the  events  them- 
selves   rather   than  from   rumour,   in  the  order  in 
which  they  befell.     Since  then  I  had  ever  abhorred 
the  uncleanness   of  harlots,  and   I  had   been  with- 
held from  the  company  and  intercourse   of    noble 
dames  by  the  exactions  of  study,  nor  had   I   more 
than  a  slight  acquaintance  with  other  women,  evil 
fortune,  smiling    on    me,    found  an   easier   way  to 
cast  me  down  from  the  summit  of  my  prosperity  ; 
proud,  as  I  was,  and  unmindful  of  divine  favour, 
the  goodness  of  God  humbled  me,  and  won  me  to 
itself." 


ill' 


96 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


97 


And  the  penitent  passes  on  immediately  to 
give  the  story  of  his  relation  to  Heloise. 

It  is  quite  clear  that  all  the  vehement 
language  with  w^hich  he  scourges  himself 
before  humanity  refers  exclusively  to  his 
liaison  with  Heloise.  Searching  about,  as 
he  does,  for  charges  to  heap  upon  his  dead 
self,  he  yet  denies  that  he  had  intercourse 
with  women  of  any  description  before  he 
knew  the  one  woman  whom  he  loved  sin- 
cerely throughout  life.  In  a  later  letter  to 
Heloise,  not  intended  to  circulate  abroad, 
he  repeats  the  statement;  recalling  their 
embraces,  he  says  they  were  the  more 
treasured  '*  since  we  had  never  known  the 
like  {ista  gaudia)  before.''  Moreover,  he 
says  a  little  later  in  the  ''Story  "  that  up  to 
the  time  of  his  liaison  with  Heloise  he  had 
a  ''repute  for  chastity"  in  the  city;  the 
events  we  have  to  follow  prove  this  to 
have  been  the  case.  Finally,  let  us  care- 
fully remember  that  there  would  be  no 
advantage  in  concealing  any  earlier  dis- 
order, and  that  there  is  clear  indication, 
even  in  the  short  passage  I  have  quoted, 


of  a  disposition  rather  to  magnify  faults  than 
to  attenuate. 

I  labour  the  point,  because  a  writer  who 
has  introduced  Ab^lard  to  many  of  the  pre- 
sent generation,  and  for  whom  and  whose 
thoughts  I  have  otherwise  a  high  regard, 
has  somehow  been  led  to  lay  here  a  very 
damning  indictment  of  Abelard.  Mr.  Cot- 
ter Morison  was  a  follower  of  the  religion 
that  worships  the  departed  great,  and  should 
have  a  special  care  to  set  in  light  the  char- 
acter of  those  whom  the  Church  has  bruised 
in  life,  and  slandered  after  death,  under  a 
false  view  of  the  interest  of  humanity.  Yet, 
in  his  Life  of  St.  Bernard,  he  has  grossly 
added  to  the  charge  against  Abelard,  with 
the  slenderest  of  historical  bases.  It  were 
almost  an  injustice  to  Kingsley  to  say  that 
Cotter  Morison's  Abelard  recalls  the  great 
novelist's  pitiful  Hypatia.  The  Positivist 
writer  thus  interprets  this  stage  in  Abelard's 
career.  After  saying  that  his  passion  broke 
out  like  a  volcano,  and  that  he  felt  **a 
fierce,  fiery  thirst  for  pleasure,  sensual  and 
animal,"  he   goes   on  in  this  remarkable 


98 


Peter  Abelard 


strain  :  ''  He  drank  deeply,  wildly.  He 
then  grew  fastidious  and  particular.  He  re- 
quired some  delicacy  of  romance,  some  fla- 
vour of  emotion,  to  remove  the  crudity  of 
his  lust.    He  seduced  Heloise.'' 

Was  ever  a  graver  perversion  in  the  his- 
torical construction  of  character  by  an  im- 
partial writer  ?     Stranger  still,  Mr.  Cotter 
Morison  has  already  warned   his  readers 
that  the  Story  of  my  Calamities  must  be 
shorn  of  some  penitential  exaggeration,  if 
we  are  to  give  it  historical  credence.    But 
Mr.  Morison  has  witnesses.    Prior  Pulques, 
in  a  letter  to  Abelard,  reminded  him  that  he 
squandered  a  fortune  on  harlots.    The  as- 
sertion of  this  monk  of  Deuil,  based,  pro- 
fessedly, on  the  reports  of  Ab^lard's  bitter 
enemies,  the  monks  of  St.  Denis,  and  made 
in  a  letter  which  is  wholly  politic,  is  held  by 
Mr,  Morison  to   ''  more  than  counterbal- 
ance'' the  solemn  public  affirmation  of  a 
morbidly  humble,    self-accusing   penitent. 
And  this  after  warning  us  not  to  take  Ab6- 
lard's  self-accusation  too  literally  I    I  shall 
examine  this  letter  of  Prior  Pulques  more 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


99 


closely  later.  Not  only  does  the  letter  itself 
belong  to,  but  the  charge  refers  to,  a  later 
period,  and  will  be  weighed  then.  There  is 
nothing  at  this  stage  to  oppose  to  the  quiet 
and  indirect  claim  of  Abelard,  allowed  by 
the  action  of  Pulbert,  that  his  character  was 
unsullied  up  to  the  date  of  his  liaison  with 
Heloise. 

Let  us  return  to  the  accredited  historical 
facts.  Somewhere  about  the  year  m8 
Abelard  first  felt  the  claims  of  love.  He 
was  wealthy  and  prosperous,  and  living  in 
comparative  luxury.  He  had  those  gifts  of 
imagination  which  usually  reveal  an  ardent 
temperament.  Whether  it  was  Heloise 
who  unwittingly  kindled  the  preparing 
passion,  or  whether  Abelard  yielded  first 
to  a  vague,  imperious  craving,  and  sought 
one  whom  he  might  love,  we  do  not  know. 
But  we  have  his  trustworthy  declaration 
that  he  detested  the  rampant  harlotry,  and 
knew  no  woman  until  he  felt  the  sweet 
caress  of  Heloise. 

I  have  now  to  set  out  with  care  the  story 
of  that  immortal  love.     But  nine  readers 


lOO 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


lOI 


out  of  ten  are  minded  to  pass  judgment  on 
the  acts  and  lives  of  those  we  recall  from 
the  dead.  My  function  is  to  reconstruct  the 
story  as  faithfully  as  the  recorded  facts  al- 
low. Yet  I  would  make  one  more  digres- 
sion before  doing  so. 

What  standard  of  conduct  shall  be  used 
in  judging  Abelard  ?  There  are  a  thousand 
moral  codes— that  of  the  Hindu  and  that  of 
the  Christian,  that  of  the  twelfth  century 
and  that  of  the  twentieth.  In  the  twelfth 
century  even  the  St.  Bernards  thought  it 
just  that  a  man  who  could  not  see  the  truth 
of  the  Church's  claims  should  be  burned 
alive,  and  his  soul  tortured  for  all  eternity  ; 
that  a  Being  was  just  and  adorable  who  tor- 
tured a  twelfth-century  babe  for  Adam's  sin; 
that  twelfth-century  Jews  might  be  robbed 
because  their  remote  ancestors  had  put 
Christ  to  death  ;  that  the  sanctity  of  justice 
demanded,  literally,  an  eye  for  an  eye  ;  and 
so  forth.  One  may,  of  course,  choose  what- 
ever standard  of  conduct  one  likes  to  meas- 
ure Abelard's,  or  anybody  else's,  actions : 
Cardinal  Newman,  and  such  writers,  have  a 


♦ 


fancy  for  judging  him  by  the  perfected  code 
of  the  nineteenth.    We  cannot  quarrel  with 
them ;  though  it  is  well  to  point  out  that 
they  are  not  measuring  Ab^lard's  subjective 
guilt,  nor  portraying  his  character,  in  so  do- 
ing.   And  if  any  do  elect  to  judge  Abelard 
by  the  moral  code  of  the  twelfth  century,  it 
must  be  noted  that  this  varied  much,  even 
on  the  point  of  sexual  morality.   St.  Bernard 
and  his  like  saw  an  inherent  moral  evil  in 
sexual  union ;  they  thought  the  sanctity 
of  the  priestly  character  was  incompatible 
with  it,  and  that  virginity  was,  in  itself,  and 
by  the  mere  abstinence  from  sexual  com- 
merce,   something  holier  than   marriage. 
Apart  from  this,  no  doubt  —  if  it  can  be  set 
apart  in  the   question  —  good  men  were 
agreed.    But,  as  will  appear  presently,  there 
were  large  bodies  of  men,  even  clerks,  who 
not  only  differed  from  them  in  practice,  but 
also  in  their  deliberate  moral  judgment. 
We  must  approach  closer  still.    When  we 
have  to  determine  an  individual  conception 
of  the  law,  for  the  purpose  of  measuring 
real  and  personal  guilt,  we  must  have  a 


I02 


Peter  Abdlard 


regard  to  the  surrounding  influences,  the  cur- 
rent thoughts  and  prevailing  habits  which 
may  have  impaired  or  obscured  the  feeling 
of  its  validity  in  any  respect.  It  is  well, 
then,  first  to  glance  at  the  morals  of  the  time 
when  one  feels  eager  to  measure  Ab^lard's 
guilt. 

It  was  a  period  when  the  dark  triumph 
of  what  is  called  materialism,  or  animalism, 
was  as  yet  relieved  only  by  a  sporadic  gleam 
of  idealism.  There  was  purity  in  places, 
but  over  the  broad  face  of  the  land  passion 
knew  little  law.  If  the  unlettered  Greek 
had  immoral  gods  to  encourage  him,  the 
mediaeval  had  immoral  pastors.  The  Church 
was  just  endeavouring  to  enforce  its  unfort- 
unate law  of  celibacy  on  them.  With  a 
stroke  of  the  pen  it  had  converted  thou- 
sands of  honest  wives  into  concubines. 
The  result  was  utter  and  sad  demoralisa- 
tion. In  thus  converting  the  moral  into  the 
deeply  immoral,  the  Church  could  appeal  to 
no  element  in  the  consciences  of  its  serv- 
ants ;  nor  even  to  its  basic  Scriptures. 
Writers  of  the  time  use  hyperbolic  language 


The  Idol  of  Paris  103 

in  speaking  of  the  prevalent  vice,  and  the 
facts  given  in  the  chronicles  and  embodied 
in  the  modern  collections  of  ancient  docu- 
ments fully  sustain  it.     Speaking  of  the 
close  of  the  eleventh  century,  Dubois,  in  his 
Historia  Ecclesm  Parisiemis,  -says  :   "  The 
condition  of  the  Church  [in  general]  at  that 
time  was  unhappy  and  wretched    .    . 
nearly  all  the  clergy  were  infected  with  the 
vice  of  simony    .    .    .    lust  and  shameful 
pleasure  were  openly  rampant."    It  is  true 
that  he  excepts  his  "  Church  of  Paris,"  but 
his  own  facts  show  that  it  is  only  a  piece  of 
foolish  loyalty.    Cardinal  Jaques  de  Vitry, 
who  studied  at  Paris  towards  the  close  of 
the  century  (it  must  have  been  worse  in 
Ab^lard's  time),  gives  a  clearly  overdrawn 
yet  instructive  picture  of  its  life  in  his  His- 
toria Occidentalis. 

"The  clergy,"  he  says,  probably  meaning  the 
scholars  in  general,  of  whom  the  majority  were  clerics, 
"saw  no  sin  in  simple  fornication.  Common  harlots 
were  to  be  seen  dragging  off  clerics,  as  they  passed 
along,  to  their  brothels.  If  they  refused  to  go,  oppro- 
brious names  were  called  after  them.  School  and 
brothel  were  under  the  same  roof— the  school  above, 


I04 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


the  brothel  below  .  .  .  And  the  more  freely  they 
spent  their  money  in  vice,  the  more  were  they  com- 
mended, and  regarded  by  almost  everybody  as  fine, 
liberal  fellows." 

The  vice  that  has  ever  haunted  educa- 
tional centres  and  institutes  was  flagrant 
and  general.    It  is  a  fact  that  the  authorities 
had  at  length  to  prohibit  the  canons  to  lodge 
students  in  their  houses  on  the  island.    In 
the  country  and  in  the  other  towns  the  same 
conditions  were  found.    In  Father  Denifle's 
Chartularium  there  is  a  document  (No.  v.) 
which  throws  a  curious  light  on  the  habits 
of  the  clergy.    A  priest  of  Rheims  was 
dancing  in  a  tavern  one  Sunday,  when  some 
of  the  scholars  laughed  at  him.    He  pur- 
sued them  to  their  school,  took  the' place 
by  storm,  half  murdered,  and  then  (pre- 
sumably recalling  his  sacerdotal  character) 
excommunicated  them.    At  another  time, 
Cardinal  Jacques  tells  us,  the  lady  of  a  cert- 
ain manor  warned  the  priest  of  the  village 
to   dismiss    his    concubine.    He  refused : 
whereupon  the  noble  dame  had  the  woman 
brought  to  her,  and  ordained  her  "priestess," 


105 


\ 

I 

I 


' 


turning  her  out  before  the  admiring  vil- 
lagers with  a  gaudy  crown.     Another  poor 
priest  told  his  bishop,  with  many  tears,  that 
if  it  were  a  question  of  choosing  between 
his  Church  and  his  concubine,  he  should 
have  to  abandon  the  Church  ;  the  story 
runs  that,  finding  his  income  gone,  the  lady 
also  departed.    There  is  an  equally  dark  la- 
ment in  Ordericus  Vitalis,  the  Norman,  who 
lived  in  Ab^lard's  day.    The  letters  and 
sermons  of  Ab^lard,— Ab^lard  the  monk,— 
of  St.  Bernard,  and  of  many  others,  con- 
firm the  darkest  features  of  the  picture. 
Only  a  few  years  previously  the  king  had 
lived  with  the  wife  of  one  of  his  nobles,  in 
defiance  of  them  all ;  and  when  a  council, 
composed  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  pre- 
lates, including  two  cardinals  and  a  number 
of  bishops,  met  at  Poitiers  to  censure  him, 
the  Duke  of  Aquitaine  broke  in  with  his  sol- 
diers, and  scattered  them  with  the  flat  of  his 
sword.   Indeed,  an  ancient  writer,  Hugo  Fla- 
viniacensis,  declares  there  was  a  feeling  that 
Pope  Paschal  did  not,  for  financial  reasons, 
approve  the  censure  passed  by  his  legates. 


io6 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Idol  of  Paris 


107 


V5^ 


Considering  the  enormous  prevalence  of 
simony,  one  could  hardly  expect  to  find  the 
Church  in  a  better  condition.    The  writers 
^(^  of  the  time  make  it  clear  that  there  was  an 
vP-  *>'^  appalling  traffic  in  bishoprics,  abbeys,  pre- 
'^-'  '        bends,  and  all  kinds  of  ecclesiastical  goods 
and  dignities.    We  have  already  seen  one 
tragic  illustration  of  the  evil,  and  we  shall 
meet  many  more.    A  few  years  previously 
the  king  had  nominated  one  of  his  favourites, 
fitienne  de  Garlande,  for  the  vacant  bishop- 
ric of  Beauvais ;  and  this  youth,  "of  no  let- 
ters and  of  unchaste  life,"  at  once  took  even 
major  orders,  and  talked  of  going  to  Rome 
"  to  buy  the  curia. "    But,  as  with  regard  to 
the  previous  point,  it  is  useless  to  give  in- 
stances.    Corruption  was  very  prevalent; 
and  one  cannot  wonder  at  it  in  view  of  the 
reputation  which  the  papacy  itself  had,  in 
spite  of  its  occasional  quashing  of  a  corrupt 
election.    This  point  will  be  treated  more 
fully  in  the  sixth  chapter. 

The  question  of  the  deep  and  wide-spread 
corruption  of  the  regular  clergy  must  also 
be  deferred.    In  his  fourth  letter  to  Heloise, 


' 


Ab^lard   complains   that  "almost  all  the 

monasteries  of  our  day  "  are  corrupt;  Jacques 

de  Vitry  affirms  that  no  nunneries,  save 

those  of  the  Cistercians,  were  fit  abodes  for 

an  honest  woman  in  his  day.*    It  is  not  a 

little  instructive  to  find  Abbot  Ab^lard,  in 

his  latest  and  most  ascetic  period,  telling  his 

son  (a  monk),  in  the  course  of  a  number  of 

admirable  moral  maxims,  that   "  A  humble 

harlot  is  better  than  she  who  is  chaste  and 

proud,"  and  that  "  Far  worse  is  the  shrewd- 

tongued  woman  than  a  harlot." 

Finally,  mention  must  be  made  of  the  ex- 
treme violence  of  the  age.  Several  illustra- 
tions have  been  given  in  the  course  of  the 
narrative,  and  it  will  bring  many  more  be- 
fore the  reader.  They  were  still  the  days 
of  the  lex  talionis,  the  judicial  duel,  the  or- 
deal, and  the  truce  of  God.  Murder  was 
common  in  town  and  country.  We  have 
seen  the  brutal  murder  of  the  Bishop  of 
Laon  in  II 12 ;  we  find  the  Bishop  of  Paris 
threatened  by  the  relatives  of  his  archdeacon, 

'  The  condition  of  monasteries  will  be  found  treated  more  fully  on 
p.  144  ;  that  of  nunneries  on  p.  239. 


io8 


Peter  Abelard 


>l 


and  the  Prior  of  St.  Victor's  murdered  by 
them,  in  1133.    But  the  story  will  contain 
violence  enough.   As  for  "  the  undisciplined 
student-hordes  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  see  the 
appalling  picture  of  their  life  in  Rashdall's 
Universities  of  Europe.    Our  period  is  pre- 
university— and  worse ;  with  the  founding 
of  the  university  came  some  degree  of  con- 
trol.   Yet  even  then  the  documentary  evid- 
ence discloses  a  fearful  condition  of  violence 
and  lawlessness.    In  the  year  1 197,  we  find 
the  Bishop  of  Paris  abolishing  the  "  Feast  of 
Fools."    On  January  ist  (and  also  on  the 
feast  of  St.  Stephen),  it  seems  a  carnival  was 
held,  during  which  the  masquers  had  free 
run  of  the  cathedral  and  the  churches,  mak- 
ing them  echo  with  ribald  songs,  and  pro- 
faning them  with  bloodshed  and  all  kinds 
of  excess.    In  12 18,  says  Crevier,  we  find 
the  ecclesiastical  judges  of  Paris  complaining 
that  the  students  break  into  the  houses  of 
the  citizens,  and  carry  off  their  women-folk. 
In  1200,  we  find  a  pitched  battle  between  the 
students  of  Paris  and  the  governor  and  his 
guards,  in  which  several  are  killed ;  and  the 


The  Idol  of  Paris  109 

king  condemns  the  unfortunate  governor  to 
be  tried  by  ordeal ;  to  be  hanged  forthwith 
if  it  proves  his  guilt ,  and  to  be  imprisoned 
for  life  (in  case  Providence  has  made  a  mis- 
take) if  it  absolves  him.  After  another  of 
these  battles,  when  the  governor  has  hanged 
several  students,  the  king  forces  him  and 
his  council  to  go  in  their  shirts  to  the  scaf- 
fold and  kiss  the  bodies.  In  another  case, 
in  1228,  the  king  sides  with  the  governor, 
and  the  masters  close  the  university  in  dis- 
gust until  the  students  are  avenged. 

But  of  story-telling  there  would  be  no 
end.    And,  indeed,  there  is  the  danger  of 
giving  a  false  impression  of  scantiness  of 
evidence   when   one   follows  up  a  large 
assertion  with  a  few  incidents.     It  is,  how- 
ever, clear  from  the  quoted  words  of  ac- 
credited historians,  and  will  be  made  clearer 
in  the  progress  of  the  narrative,  that  simony, 
unchastity,  violence,   cruelty,    and   usury 
were  real  and  broad  features  of  the  age  of 
Abelard.    The  reader  will  not  forget  them 
when  he  is  seeking  to  enter  into  the  con- 
science of  the  famous  master. 


^^^^ 


Chapter  V 
Dead-Sea  Fruit 

HTHE  great  cemetery  of  P6re  Uchaise  at 
Paris   is    a    city  of   historic    tombs. 
Names  of  world-fame  look  down  on  you 
from  the  marble  dwellings  of  the  dead,  as 
you  pass  along  its  alleys  and  broad  avenues. 
Paris  loves  to  wander  there  on  Sundays ; 
to  scatter  floral  symbols  of  a  living  memory 
on   the   youngest    graves,   and   to   hang 
wreaths  of  unfading  honour  over  the  ashes 
of  those  who  have  fought  for  it  and  served 
it.     The  memory  of  the  dead  soon  fades, 
they  say,  yet  you  will  see  men  and  women 
of  Paris,  on  many  a  summer's  day,  take 
flowers  and  wreaths  in  solemn  pity  to  lay 
on  the  tomb  of  a  woman  who  was  dust 
seven  hundred  years  ago.    It  is  the  grave 
of  Heloise,  and  of  her  lover,  Abelard. 
It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  in  a 


IIO 


Dead-Sea  Fruit 


III 


serious  endeavour  to  depict  the  historical 
Heloise  much  myth  and  legend  must  be 
soberly  declined.   Even  historians  have  been 
seduced  from  their  high  duty,  in  writing  her 
praise :   witness  the  fond  exaggeration  of 
M.  de  R6musat,  which  would  make  her 
"the  first  of  women."    Yet  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  impartial  study  brings  us  face 
to  face  with  a  very  remarkable  personality. 
This  will  be  easily  accepted  in  the  sequel, 
when  we  have  followed  the  course  of  her 
life  to  some  extent-when,  for  instance,  we 
see  the  affection  and  the  extraordinary  re- 
spect with  which  she  inspires  the  famous 
Abbot  of  Cluny,  Peter  the  Venerable.    It  is 
more  difficult  to  recall  her  at  the  period  of 
her  fateful  meeting  with  Abelard.   We  have, 
however,  the  sober  assurance  of  Peter  the 
Venerable  that,  even  at  this  early  date,  she 
was  "of  great  repute  throughout  the  entire 
kingdom  "  ;  and  there  is  no  reason  what- 
ever to  resent  Ab^lard's  assertion  that  she 
was  already  distinguished  for  her  knowledge. 
The  mythic  additions  to  the  portraiture 
of  Heloise  refer  almost  exclusively  to  her 


112 


Peter  Ab^lard 


parentage  and  her  beauty.  Abelard  intro- 
duces her  to  us  as  the  niece  of  a  canon  of 
the  cathedral  chapter,  named  Fulbert.  It  is 
quite  clear  that  Abelard  considered  her  such 
throughout  life,  and  that  it  was  the  belief 
of  Heloise  herself;  but  of  her  parentage 
neither  of  them  speaks.  In  strict  justice, 
the  only  inference  we  may  draw  from  this 
is  that  she  lost  her  parents  at  an  early  age. 
We  should  never  have  known  the  parentage 
of  Abelard  but  for  his  own  autobiography. 
However,  the  tradition  that  has  charged 
itself  with  the  romance  of  Abelard's  life 
found  in  this  silence  a  convenient  pretext 
for  weaving  further  romantic  elements  into 
the  story.  There  is  a  pretty  collection  of 
myths  about  Heloise's  birth,  most  of  them, 
of  course,  making  her  illegitimate.  The 
issue  of  lawful  wedlock  is  ever  too  prosaic 
and  ordinary  for  the  romantic  faculty— in 
spite  of  facts.  The  favourite  theory  is  that 
Heloise  was  the  daughter  of  Canon  Fulbert ; 
even  Hausrath  thinks  Fulbert's  conduct 
points  to  this  relationship.  Two  other 
canons  of  Paris  are  severally  awarded  the 


Dead-Sea  Fruit  113 

honour  by  various  writers.    On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  inevitable  that  she  should  be 
given  a  tinge  of  "  noble  "  blood,  and  this  is 
traced  on  the  maternal  side.    Turlot  makes 
the  best  effort,— from  the  romantic  point  of 
view,— in  describing  her  as  the  daughter 
of  an  abbess,  who  was  the  mistress  of  a 
Montmorency,   but  who  gave   an   air  of 
respectability  to  her  family  matters  by  pass- 
ing for  the  mistress  of  Fulbert.    From  the 
less  interesting  point  of  view  of  history, 
we  can  only  say  that  she  lived  with  her 
uncle.  Canon  Fulbert,  and  we  must  admit 
that  we  do  not  know  whether  she  was 
illegitimate  or  an  orphan.    But  the  former 
category  was  very  much  the  larger  one, 
even  in  those  violent  days. 

It  was  also  natural  that  tradition  should 
endow  her  with  a  singular  beauty,  an  en- 
dowment which  sober  history  is  unable  to 
confirm.  She  must,  it  is  true,  have  had  a 
singular  grace  and  charm  of  person.  It  is 
impossible  to  think  that  her  mental  gifts 
alone  attracted  Abelard.  Moreover,  in  the 
course  of  the  story  we  shall  meet  several 


114 


Peter  Ab^lard 


Dead-Sea  Fruit 


115 


instances  of  the  exercise  of  such  personal 
power.  But  we  cannot  claim  for  her  more 
than  a  moderate  degree  of  beauty.  *'Not 
the  least  in  beauty  of  countenance,"  says 
Abelard,  ''she  was  supreme  in  her  know- 
ledge of  letters."  The  antithesis  does  not 
seem  to  be  interpreted  aright  by  those 
writers  who  think  it  denies  her  any  beauty. 
''  Not  the  least  "  is  a  figure  of  rhetoric  well 
known  to  Abelard,  which  must  by  no  means 
be  taken  with  Teutonic  literalness. 

But  that  ''repute  throughout  the  king- 
dom," which  Peter  the  Venerable  grants  her, 
was  based  on  her  precocious  knowledge. 
It  is  generally  estimated  that  she  was  in  her 
seventeenth  or  eighteenth  year  when  Abe- 
lard fell  in  love  with  her.  She  had  spent 
her  early  years  at  the  Benedictine  nunnery 
at  Argenteuil,  afew  miles  beyond  St.  Denis. 
Her  education  was  then  continued  by  her 
uncle.  Canon  Fulbert  has  no  reputation  for 
learning  in  the  chronicles  of  the  time  ;  in 
fact,  the  only  information  we  have  of  him, 
from  other  sources  than  the  story  of  Abe- 
lard, is  that  he  was  the  happy  possessor  of 


"a  whole  bone"  out  of  the  spine  of  St. 
Ebrulfus.     However,  it  is  indisputable  that 
Heloise  had  a  reputation  for  letters  even  at 
that  time.    Both  Abelard  and  Peter  of  Cluny 
are  explicit  on  the  point ;  the  latter  says  to 
her,  in  one  of  his  admiring  letters,  "  In  study 
you  not  only  outstripped  all  women,  but 
there  were  few   men  whom  you  did  not 
surpass."     From  this  it  is  clear  that  the 
learning  of  Heloise  was  not  distinguished 
only  when  compared  with  the  general  con- 
dition of  the  feminine  mind.     In  fact,  al- 
though Abbot  Peter  speaks  slightingly  of 
womanly  education  in  general,  this  was  a 
relatively  bright  period.    We  have  already 
seen  the  wife  and  daughters  of  Manegold 
teaching  philosophy  at  Paris  with  much  dis- 
tinction at  the  close  of  the  eleventh  century, 
and  one  cannot  go  far  in  the  chronicles  of 
the  time  without  meeting  many  instances 
of  a  learned  correspondence  in  Latin  between 
prelates  and  women. 

Nevertheless,  the  learning  of  Heloise  can- 
not have  been  considerable,  absolutely 
speaking.     Her   opportunities  were   even 


ii6 


Peter  Ab61ard 


more  limited  than  the  erudition  of  her  time. 
That  she  knew  Hebrew  is  explicitly  stated 
by  Abelard  and  Peter  of  Cluny,  and  also  by 
Robert  of  Auxerre ;  but  she  probably  learned' 
it  (with  Greek)  from  Abelard,  and  knew  no 
more  than  he.    Her  Latin  is  good ;  but  it  is 
impossible  to  discuss  here  her  famous  Let- 
ters, which  give  us  our  sole  direct  insight 
into  her  personality.    Learned,  critical,  pen- 
etrative, she  certainly  was,  but  R^musat's 
estimate  is  entirely  inadmissible.     Beside 
Aspasia  or  Hypatia  she  would  "pale  her 
ineffectual  fire." 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  how  the 
two  were  brought  together.  Both  of  high 
repute  "in  the  whole  kingdom,"  or,  at  all 
events,  in  Paris,  they  could  not  long  remain 
strangers.  Abelard  was  soon  "  wholly  afire 
with  love  of  the  maid, "  he  tells  us,  and 
sought  an  opportunity  of  closer  intercourse 
with  her.  Though  Cotter  Morison's  theory 
of  the  sated  sensualist  looking  round  for  a 
dainty  morsel  is  utterly  at  variance  with  Ab^- 
lard's  narrative,  — the  only  account  of  these 
events  that  we  have,—  it  is,  nevertheless, 


Dead-Sea  Fruit  117 

clear  that  Abelard  sought  the  intimacy  of 
Heloise  for  the  purpose  of  gaining  her  love. 
He  says  so  repeatedly;  and  though  we  have 
at  times  to  moderate  the  stress  of  his  words, 
we  cannot  refuse  to  accept  their  substance.' 
Mr.  Poole  considers  the  idea  of  a  deliberate 
seduction  on  the  part  of  Abelard  "incredi- 
ble. "    It  is  strange  that  one  who  is  so  famil- 
iar with  the  times  should  think  this.     "  I 
thought  it  would  be  well  to  contract  a  union, 
of  love  with  the  maid, "  Abelard  says.   From 
the  circumstance  that  he  had  to  approach 
Fulbert  (who  was,  however,  only  too 'will- 
ing through  the  mediation  of  friends,  it  does 
not  seem  rash  to  infer  that  he  had  had  no 
personal  intercourse  with  the  canon  and  his 
niece.    It  was  through  her  fame  and,  per- 
haps, an  occasional  passing  glance  that  he 
had  come  to  love  her.    He  had,  however, 
little  diffidence  about  the  issue.    Though 
between  thirty-five  and  forty  years  of  age, 
he  looked  "young and  handsome,"  he  tells 
us  ;  and  we  learn  further  from  Heloise  that 
he  had  gifts  "of  writing  poetry  and  of  sing- 
ing" which  no  female  heart  could  resist. 


ro'^^i^ 


^r 


ii8 


Peter  Abdlard 


■h 


i! 


The  "  Socrates  of  Gaul "  set  out  on  a  love- 
adventure. 

And  one  fine  day  the  little  v/orld  of  Paris 
was  smirking  and  chattering  over  the  start- 
ling news  that  Master  Peter  had  gone  to 
live  with  Heloise  and  her  uncle.     The  sim- 
ple canon  had  been  delighted  at  the  proposal 
to  receive  AWIard.    Alleging  the  expense  of 
maintaining  a  separate  house  and  the  greater 
convenience  of  Fulbert's  house  for  attending 
the  school,  Abelard  had  asked  his  hospital- 
ity in  consideration  of  a  certain  payment 
and  the  instruction  of  Heloise  in  leisure 
hours.    It  may  or  may  not  be  true  that 
Fulbert  was  avaricious,  as  Abelard  affirms 
but  the  honour  of  lodging  the  first  master 
in  Christendom  and  the  valuable  advantage 
to  his  niece  are  quite  adequate  to  explain 
Fulbert's  eager  acceptance.     "  Affection  for 
his  niece  and  the  repute  of  my  chastity," 
says  Abelard,  blinded  the  canon  to  the  ob- 
vious danger,  if  not  the  explicit  intention. 
The  master  was  at  once  established  in  the 
canon's  house.    One  reads  with  pitv  how 
the  uncle,  blind,  as  only  an  erudite(^rtest 


H- 


^^ 


Dead-Sea  Fruit 


119 


can  be,  to  the  rounded  form  and  quickened 
pulse,  childlike,  gave  Abelard  even  powder 
to  beat  his  niece,  if  she  neglected  her  task. 

A  tradition,  which  seems  to  have  but  a 
precarious  claim  to  credence,  points  out  the 
spot  w^here  the  idyll  of  that  love  w^as  lived. 
In  the  earlier  part  of  the  present  century 
there  was  a  house  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
des  Chantres  (on  the   island,  facing   the 
Hotel  de  Ville)  which  bore  an  inscription 
claiming  that  ''Heloise   and  Abelard,  the 
model  of  faithful   spouses,  dwelt  in  this 
house."    If  we  accept  the  vague  legend,  we 
can  easily  restore  in  imagination  the  little 
cottage  of  Fulbert.     It  lay  a  few  yards  from 
the  water's  edge,  and  one  could  look  out 
from  its  narrow  windows  over  the  gently 
sloping  garden  of  the  bank  and  the  fresh, 
sweet  bosom  of  the  river ;  the  quays  were 
beyond,— where  the  Hotel  de  Ville  now 
stands,— and  farther  still  was  outspread  the 
lovely  panorama  that  encircled  Paris. 

In  a  very  short  time  master  and  pupil 
were  lovers.  He  did  assuredly  fulfil  his 
promise  of  teaching  her.     Most  probably  it 


I20 


Peter  Abdlard 


) 


!'!! 


was  from  him  that  she  learned  what  Greek 
and  Hebrew  she  knew ;  for  Abelard,  in  later 
years,  not  only  reminds  her  nuns  that  they 
''have  a  mother  who  is  conversant  with 
these  tongues,"  but  adds  also  that  "she 
alone  has  attained  this  knowledge, "  amongst 
the  women  of  her  time.     It  is  also  clear 
that  he  taught  her  dialectics,  theology,  and 
eth.cs.     But   it   was    not    long,  he   con- 
fesses, before  there  were  "  more  kisses  than 
theses,"  and  "love  was  the  inspirer  of  his 
tongue. "     He  does  not  hesitate  to  speak  of 
having  "corrupted  "  or  seduced  her,  but  it 
«s  only  prejudice  or  ignorance  that  can  ac- 
cept this  in  the  full  severity  and  gravity  of 
the  modern  term.    Heloise  had  been  edu- 
cated in  a  nunnery ;  but  before  many  years 
we  find  these  nuns  of  Argenteuil  turned  on 
the  street  for  "  the  enormity  of  their  lives  " 
The  charge  must  not  be  taken  too  literally 
just  yet,  but  it  should  make  us  hesitate  to 
credit  Heloise  with  a  rigorous  moral  educa- 
tion.     She  lived,  too,  in  a  world  where  as 
we  saw  such  liaisons  were  not  considered 
sinful.    It  is  far  from  likely  that  she  would 


Dead-Sea  Fruit 


121 


oppose  any  scruple  to  Abelard's  desire.  In- 
deed, from  the  study  of  her  references  to 
their  love,  in  the  letters  she  wrote  long 
years  afterwards,— wrote  as  an  abbess  of 
high  repute,— one  feels  disposed  to  think 
that  Abelard  would  have  had  extreme  diffi- 
culty in  pointing  out  to  her  the  sinfulness  of 
such  a  love.  It  is  with  an  effort,  even  after 
twenty  years  of  chaste,  conventual  life,  that 
she  accepts  the  ecclesiastical  view  of  their 
conduct.  Abelard  sinned ;  but  let  us,  in 
justice,  limit  his  sin  at  least  to  its  due 
objective  proportion ;  its  subjective  magni- 
tude I  shall  not  venture  to  examine. 

In  a  few  months  the  famed  philosopher 
appeared  in  a  new  character,— as  ''the  first 
of  the  troubadours,"  to  use  the  words  of 
Ampere.  ''A  m^sure  qu'on  a  plus  d'esprit 
les  passions  sont  plus  grandes,"  said  Pascal. 
Of  all  false  epigrams  that  is  surely  the 
falsest,  but  it  would  be  easily  inspired  by 
the  transformation  of  Pierre  Abelard.  The 
sober-living  man  of  forty,  whom  all  had 
thought  either  never  to  have  known  or  long 
since  to  have  passed  the  fever  of  youth,  was 


122 


m 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


¥ 


mastered  by  a  deep,   tyrannical   passion. 
The  problems  of  dialectics  were  forgotten 
the  alluring  difficulties  of  Ezechiel  unheeded.' 
Day  after  day  the  murmuring  throng  was 
dismissed  untaught  from  the  cloistral  school  ; 
whilst  passers-by  heard  songs  that  were 
ardent  with  deep  love  from  the  windows 
of  the  canon's  house.    All  Paris,  even  all 
France,  caught  the  echo,  says  Heloise,  and 
"every  street,  every  house,  resounded  with 
my  name."    The  strange  "Story  of  love 
and  learning,"  as  an  old  ballad  expressed  it 
was  borne  through  the  kingdom  in  Ab^lard's 
own  impassioned  words.' 

Months  ran  on,  and  the  purblind  priest  re- 
mained wholly  unconscious  of  what  all 
Paris  sang  nightly  in  its  taverns.  At  length 
the  truth  was  forced  upon  his  mind,  and  he 
at  once  interrupted  the  love-story.  He 
drove  Abelard  from  the  house,  and  raised 
the  usual  futile  barriers  to  the  torrent  of 

J!*"'  '  r"?'%°"'  °^  ^^^"^''  """es  has  come  down  to  us.     A  few 
Z!T  r  ^  '°""'  *"''"  "'"  "^'^  """'■  ""t  'hey  are  no.  genuine 

convey  no  bet  er  impression  of  his  true  and  unspoiled  poeUc  faculty 
than  the  moonlight  does  ofthe  rays  of  tlle  sun.  t  lacuiiy 


Dead-Sea  Fruit 


123 


passion.     Whether  the  canon  was  really 
more  earnest  than  the  majority  of  his  order, 
and   therefore    sincerely   shocked   at   the 
thought  of  the  liaison,  or  whether  it  had 
disturbed  some  other  project  he  had  formed, 
it  is  impossible  to  say.    Heloise  herself,  in 
her  sober  maturity,  affirms  that  any  woman 
in  France  would  have  thought  her  position 
more  honourable  than  any  marriage.    How- 
ever that  may  be,  Fulbert  angrily  forbade  a 
continuance  of  the  relation.     Once  more 
Abelard  must  have  felt  the  true  alternative 
that  honour  placed  before  him :  either  to 
crush  his  passion  and  return  to  the  school, 
or  to  marry  Heloise  and  sacrifice  the  desire  of 
further  advancement  in  ecclesiastical  dignity. 
Abelard  was  not  a  priest  at  that  time. 
He  was  probably  a  canon  of  Notre  Dame, 
but  there  are  very  satisfactory  reasons  for 
holding  that  he  did  not  receive  the  priest- 
hood until   a  much   later   date.     In   the 
Storjy    he    makes    Heloise   address    him, 
about  this  time,  as  "a  cleric  and  canon," 
but  he  is  nowhere  spoken  of  as  a  priest. 
Had  he  been  a  priest,  the  circumstances 


124 


Peter  Ab^lard 


would  have  afforded   Heloise  one  of  the 
most  powerful  objections  to  a  marriage  •  in 
the  curious  and  lengthy  catalogue  of  such 
objections  which  we  shall  find  her  raising 
presently  she  does  not  mention  the  priest 
hood.    But  even  if  he  were  a  priest,  it  is 
not  at  all  clear  that  he  would  have  con- 
sidered this  in  itself  an  impediment  to  mar- 
riage.    From  the  acts  of  the  Council  of 
London  (,  ,02)  the  Council  of  Troyes  (,  ,07), 

the  Council  of  Rheims(n,9),  and  other 
we  find  that   the  decree  of  the  Church 
against  the  marriage  of  priests,  and  even 
bishops    was  far  from   being   universally 
accepted.    Indeed,  we  have  specific  reason 
for  thinking  that  Abelard  did  not  recognise 
an  impediment  of  that  character.  In  a  work 
which  bears  the  title  Sententm  AbHardi, 
we  f^nd  the  thesis,  more  or  less  cleari; 
stated,  that  the  priest  may  marry.     The 
work  IS  certainly  not  Ab^lard's  own  com- 
position, but  the  experts  regard  it  as  a  care- 
ful summary  of  his  views  by  some  master 
or  the  period. 

Apart  from  the  laxer  view  of  love-relation 


Dead  Sea  Fruit 


125 


which  Abelard  probably  shared,   we  can 
only  find  firm  ground  to  interpret  his  re- 
luctance to  marry  in  the  fear  of  injuring  his 
further  ambition.   Marriage  was  fast  becom- 
ing a  fatal  obstacle  to  advancement  in  the 
ecclesiastical  world  ;  a  lover— with  wealth- 
was  not  a   serious   difficulty.    Even  this 
point,  however,  cannot  be  pressed ;  it  looks 
as  though  his  ambition  had  become  as  limp 
and  poweriess  as  all  other  feelings  in  the 
new  tyranny  of  love.    Historians  have  been 
so  eager  to  quarrel  with  the  man  that  they 
have,  perhaps,  not  paid  a  just  regard  to 
the  fact  that  Heloise  herself  was  violently 
opposed  to  marriage,  and  conscientiously 
thought  their  eariier  union  more  honour- 
able.   This  will  appear  presently. 

Whatever  struggle  may  have  distracted 
Abelard  after  their  separation,  he  was  soon 
forced  to  take  practical  measures.  Heloise 
found  means  to  inform  him— not  with  the 
conventional  tears,  but,  he  says,  "with 
the  keenest  joy"  — that  she  was  about 
to  become  a  mother.  Fate  had  cut  the 
ethical  knot.    He  at  once  removed  her  from 


126 


Peter  Abelard 


>i  I 
C 


Fulbert's  house  during  the  night,  and  had  her 
conveyed,  in  the  disguise  of  a  nun,'  to  his 
home  at  Pallet.    It  is  not  clearly  stated  that 
AWlard  accompanied  her,  but,  beside  the 
intrinsic  probability,  there  is  a  local  tradi- 
tion that  Abelard  and  Heloise  spent  many 
happy  months  together  at  Pallet,  and  there 
IS  a  phrase  in  the  Story  which  seems  to 
connrm  it.    However  that  may  be,  we  find 
him  in  Paris  again,  after  a  time,  seeking  a 
reconciliation  with  Fulbert. 

Fulbert  was  by  no  means  the  quiet,  pas- 
sive recluse  that  one  would  imagine  from  his 
earlier  action,  or  inaction.  The  discovery  of 
Abdard's  treachery  and  the  removal  of  his 
niece  had  enkindled  thoughts  of  wild  and 
dark  revenge.  He  feared,  however  to 
attack  Abelard  whilst  Heloise  remained  at 
Pallet ;  it  is  a  fearful  commentary  on  the 
times  that  Abelard  should  coolly  remark 
that  a  retaliation  on  the  part  of  his  own 
relatives  was  apprehended.    Revenge  was 

'  This  detail  is  found  in  Abelard's  second  letter  to  Heloise      It  k 
characteristic  of  Mr.  Cotter   Morison's  "  sketch  "  oAbShah 
should  have  n,issed  it,  and  though,  fit  to  deny  it.     Deuts^h  i^  him 
a  severe  lesson  on  the  duty  of  accuracy,  in  his  -PHer  Abalari 


Dead-Sea  Fruit  127 

considered  a  legitimate  daughter  of  justice 
in  those  days.    A  compromise  was  at  length 
imagined    by  Abelard.     He    proposed   to 
marry  Heloise,  if  Fulbert  and  his  friends 
would  agree  to  keep  the  marriage  secret. 
In  this  we  have  a  still  clearer  revelation 
of  the  one  serious  flaw  in  Abelard's  charac- 
ter—weakness.  No  doubt,  if  we  had  had  an 
autobiography  from  an  unmaimed  Abelard 
—an  Abelard  who  identified  himself  with, 
and  endeavoured  proudly  to  excuse,  the 
lover  of  Heloise— we  should  be  reminded  of 
many  extenuating   elements  :   the   repug- 
nance of  Heloise,  the  stupid  anti-matrimoni- 
alism  of  the  hierarchy,  the  current  estimate 
of  an  unconsecrated  liaison,  and  so  forth. 
Even  as  it  is,  Abelard  perceives  no  selfish- 
ness, no  want  of  resolution,  in  his  action. 
"Out  of  compassion  for  his  great  anxiety," 
he  says,   he   approached    Fulbert  on   the 
question  of  a  private  marriage.    The  canon 
consented,   though    secretly    retaining  his 
intention  of  taking  a  bloody  revenge,  Abe- 
lard thinks  ;  and  the  master  hastened  once 
more  to  Brittany  for  his  bride. 


■^ 


128 


Peter  Abdlard 


ill 


Abelard  probably  flattered  himself  that  he 
had  found  an  admirable  outlet  from  his  nar' 
row  circumstances.      Fulbert's  conscience 

oTthe- 1  "'"'  ''  '''  Churches  n, 
on  their  love ;  the  hierarchy  would  have  no 

matrimonial  impediment  to  oppose  to  h"s 
advancement    Paris  would  give  an  indul^! 
ent  eye  to  what   it  would  regard  as   an 
amiable  frailty,  if  not  a  grace  of  character 
U  for^^unately  for  his  peace,  Heloise  ene^ 
getically  repulsed  the  idea  of  marriage    The 
long  passage  in  which  Aboard  gives  us  her 
o^e^ctions  is  not  the  leas^ 

" She  asked, "  he  writer   ««xi/Ko*     i 
win  from  me,  when  7heL  ZnT  ^f'^  "'"  ^""''^ 
and  had  humbled  both  me  and  her    h    """  '"^'°"°"^ 
ishment  the  world  wouW  Inflict  on  h    7  f'"' '  P""" 
it  of  so  resplendent  TlfZ    IZ  '^'  "^'^""''^ 

to  the  Church  what  nhnnl'  ^  '"■■"''  ^'^^^  loss 
such  a  marrk  J  How  n  ^'^''  '""'''  ^^"''^  ^^""^ 
was.  that  heThom  n:tr  rfcS;-  P--«^^^  '^ 
mon  blessing  should  be  devoted  to  on.  ^°"" 

respect.  *^  ""^   '"    every 


Dead-Sea  Fruit  129 

Then  follows  an  elaborate,  rhetorical  dis- 
course on  the  disadvantages  of  matrimony, 
with  careful  division  and  subdivision,  argu- 
ments from  reason,  from  experience,  from 
authority,  and  all  the  artifices  of  rhetoric  and 
dialectics.     That  the  learned  Heloise  did 
urge  many  of  its  curious  points  will  scarcely 
be  doubted,  but  as  a  careful  and  ordered 
piece  of  pleading  against  matrimony  it  has 
an  obvious  ulterior  purpose.    St.  Paul  is  the 
first   authority   quoted;   then   follow   St. 
Jerome,  Theophrastus,  and  Cicero.   She  (or 
he)  then  draws  an  animated  picture  of  the 
domestic  felicity  of  a  philosopher,  reminding 
him  of  servants  and  cradles,  infant  music 
and  the   chatter  of  nurses,  the  pressing 
throng  of  the  family  and  the  helplessness  of 
the  little  ones.    The  example  of  monks,  of 
Nazarites,  and  of  philosophers  is  impressively 
urged ;  and  if  he  will  not  hesitate,  as  "a 
cleric  and  a  canon,"  to  commit  himself  "  ir- 
revocably to  domestic  joy,"  at  least  let  him 
remember  his  dignity  as  a  philosopher.  The 
sad  fate  of  the  married  Socrates  is  adduced, 
together  with  the  thunder  and  rain  incident! 


• '  —      »'l 


130 


Peter  Abelard 


Finally,  she  is  represented  as  saying  that  it 
is  "sweeter  to  her  and  more  honourable  to 
him  that  she  should  be  his  mistress  rather 
than  his  wife,"  and  that  she  prefers  to  be 
united  to  him  "  by  love  alone,  not  by  the 
compulsion  of  the  marriage  vow." 

When  the  letter  containing  this  curious 
passage    reached    Heloise,    nearly  twenty 
years  after  the  event,  she,  an  abbess  of  high 
repute  for  holiness,  admitted  its  correctness, 
with  the  exception  that  "a  few  arguments 
had  been  omitted  in  which  she  set  love  be- 
fore matrimony  and  freedom  before  com- 
pulsion."    Holy  abbess   writing   to  holy 
abbot,  she  calls  God  to  witness  that  "if  the 
name  of  wife  is  holier,  the  name  of  friend, 
or,  if  he  likes,  mistress  or  concubine,  is 
sweeter,"  and  that  she  "  would  rather  be 
his  mistress  than  the  queen  of  a  C«sar." 
They  who  disregard  these  things  in  sitting 
in  judgment  on  that  famous  liaison  are  fore- 
doomed to  error. 

But  Aboard  prevailed.  "Weeping  and 
sobbing  vehemently, "  he  says,  "she  brought 
her  discourse  to  an  end  with  these  words  : 


Dead-Sea  Fruit  131 

'  One  thing  alone  remains  for  us  now,— we 
must  exhibit  in  our  common  ruin  a  grief  as 
strong  as  the  love  that  has  gone  before. ' " 
It  is  an  artistic  termination  to  Ab^lard's 
discourse,  at  all  events. 

Back  to  Paris  once  more,  therefore,  the 
two  proceeded.     Heloise  had  a  strong  fore- 
boding of  evil  to  come  from  the  side  of  Ful- 
bert ;  she  did  not  trust  his  profession  of 
conciliation.     However,  she  left  her  boy, 
whom,  with  a  curious  affectation,  they  had 
called  Astrolabe  (the  name  of  an  astronomic 
apparatus),  in  the  charge  of  Abelard's  sister 
Denyse.     They  were  married  a  few  days 
after  their  arrival  at  Paris.    The  vigil  was 
spent,  according  to  custom,  in  one  of  the 
churches  :  they  remained  all  night  in  prayer, 
and  the  ceremony  took  place  after  an  early 
mass   in   the   morning.    Their  arrival   in 
Paris  had  been  kept  secret,  and  only  Fulbert 
and  a  few  friends  of  both  parties  were  pre- 
sent at  the  marriage.    Then  they  parted  at 
the  altar ;  the  man  weakly  proceeding  to 
follow  his  poor  ambition   in  the  school, 
the  noble  young  wife   making  herself  a 


132 


Peter  Abdlard 


sad  sacrifice  to  his  selfishness  and  irresolu- 
tion. 

During  the  next  few  dreary  months  they 
saw  each  other  rarely  and  in  secret.    Ab6- 
lard  was  a  man  of  the  type  that  waits  for 
the  compulsion  of  events  in  a  serious  con- 
flict of  desires,  or  of  desire  and  duty.    He 
could  not  lay  aside   his   day-dream   that 
somehow  and  some  day  the  fates  would 
smooth  out  a  path  along  which  he  could 
carry  both  his  whole  ambition  and  his  love. 
Events  did  decide  for  him  once  more.    Ful- 
bert,  it  seems,  broke  his  faith  with  Ab^lard 
and  divulged  the  marriage.    But  when  peo- 
ple came  to  Heloise  for  confirmation,  she 
did  more  than  "  lie  with  the  sweetness  of  a 
Madonna,"  in  Charles  Reade's  approving 
phrase ;  she  denied  on  oath  that  she  was 
the  wife  of  Ab^lard.    Fulbert  then  began  to 
ill-treat  her  (the  circumstance  may  be  com- 
mended to  the  notice  of  those  historians 
who  think  he  had  acted  from  pure  affec- 
tion), and  Ab^lard  removed  her  secretly 
from  her  uncle's  house. 
It  was  to  the  convent  at  Argenteuil  that 


Dead-Sea  Fruit  133 

Ab^lard  conveyed  his  wife  this  time.     One 
passes  almost  the  very  spot   in   entering 
modern  Paris  by  the  western  line,  but  the 
village  lay  at  a  much  greater  distance  from 
the  ancient  island-city,  a  few  miles  beyond 
St.  Denis,  going  down  the  river.    It  was  a 
convent  of  Benedictine  nuns,  very  familiar 
to  Heloise,  who  had  received  her  early  edu- 
cation there.    In  order  to  conceal  Heloise 
more  effectually,  he  bade  her  put  on  the 
habit  of  the  nuns,  with  the  exception  of  the 
veil,  which  was  the  distinguishing  mark  of 
the  professed  religious.    Here  she  remained 
for  some  months ;  Ab^lard  waiting  upon 
events,  as  usual,  and  occasionally  making  a 
secret  visit  to  Argenteuil.     According  to 
Turlot,  the  Abbess  of  Argenteuil  was  the 
mother  of  Heloise.     We  know,  at  least, 
that  the  nunnery  was  in  a  very  lax  condi- 
tion, and  that,  beyond  her  unconquerable 
presentiment  of  evil,  Heloise  would  suffer 
little  restraint.      Indeed,  Ab^lard  reminds 
her  later,  in  his  second  letter  to  her,  that 
their  conjugal   relations   continued  vvhilst 
she  was  in  the  nunnery. 


'34 


Peter  Ab^lard 


How  long  this  wretched  situation  con- 
tinued it  is  impossible  to  determine.     It 
cannot  have  been  many  months,  at  the 
most,  before  Fulbert  discovered  what  had 
happened  ;   it  was  probably  a  matter  of 
weeks.     Yet   this  is  the   only  period  in 
which  it  is  possible  to  entertain  the  theory 
of  Ab^lard's  licentiousness.    We  have  al- 
ready seen  that  Cotter  Morison's  notion  of 
a  licentious  period  before  the  liaison  with 
Heloise  is  quite  indefensible.    The  tragic 
event  which  we  have  presently  to  relate 
puts  the  latest  term  to  the  possibility  of 
such  license.    Now,  there  are  two  docu- 
ments on  which  Ab61ard's  critics  rely  :  a 
letter  to  him  from  Pulques,  prior  in  the 
monastery  of  Deuil  near  Paris,  and  a  letter 
from  his  former  teacher,  Master  Roscelin. 
Prior  Pulques,  however,  merely  says  he 
"  has  heard  "  that  Ab^lard  was  reduced  to 
poverty  through  "the  greed  and  avarice  of 
harlots  "  ;  and  Roscelin  explicitly  states  that 
he  heard  his  story  from  the  monks  of  St. 
Denis.     Indeed,  we  may  at  once  exclude 
Roscelin 's  letter ;  not  merely  because  it  was 


\- 


Dead-Sea  Fruit  135 

written  in  a  most  furious  outburst  of  tem- 
per, when  a  man  would  grasp  any  rumour, 
but  also  on  the  ground  that  his  story  is 
absurd  and  impossible.  He  represents 
Abelard,  when  a  monk  at  St.  Denis,  later, 
returning  to  his  monastery  with  the  money 
earned  by  his  teaching,  and  marching  off 
with  it  to  pay  a  former  mistress.  We  shall 
see,  in  a  later  chapter,  that  Abelard  did  not 
begin  to  teach  until  he  had  left  St.  Denis. 

If,  however,  Roscelin's  story  is  too  absurd 
to  entertain  in  itself,  it  is  useful  in  casting 
some  light  on  Pulques's  letter.     Pulques 
was  writing  to  Abelard  on  behalf  of  the 
monks  of  St.  Denis.    He  would  be  well 
acquainted  with  their  gossip,  and  would, 
therefore,  probably  be  referring  to  the  story 
which  Roscelin  shows  to  be  impossible  in 
giving  it  more  fully.    It  is  not  unlikely  that 
the  story  was  really  a  perverse  account  of 
Ab^lard's  visits  to  Heloise  at  Argenteuil.    In 
any  case  we  are  reduced  to  the  gossip  of  a 
band  of  monks  of  notorious  character  (teste 
St.  Bernard),  of  indirect  and  uncertain  in- 
formation, and  of  bitter  hostility  to  Abelard. 


136 


Peter  Abdlard 


And  this  is  all  the  evidence  which  can  be 
found  in  support  of  the  calumny.  On  the 
strength  of  this  monkish  gossip  we  are 
asked  to  believe  that  Ab^lard  grossly  de- 
ceived his  young  wife,  and  made  an  at- 
tempt, as  ridiculous  (if  the  rumour  contained 
truth)  as  it  was  hypocritical,  to  deceive  the 
readers  of  his  heart-naked  confession.  We 
are  to  suppose  that  ''the  abhorrence  of 
harlots,"  of  which  he  spoke  earlier,  entirely 
disappeared  when  he  found  himself  united 
by  the  sacred  bonds  of  both  religion  and 
love  to  a  noble  and  devoted  wife.  We  are 
to  suppose  that  his  apparent  detestation  and 
condemnation  of  his  past  conduct  was  a 
mere  rhetorical  artifice  to  conceal  the  foulest 
and  most  extraordinary  episode  in  his  career 
from  the  people  amongst  whom  he  had 
lived— an  artifice,  moreover,  which  would 
be  utterly  inconsistent  with  his  life  and 
character  at  the  time  he  wrote  the  Story. 
It  is  almost  impossible  to  take  such  a  no- 
tion seriously. 

Once  more,  then,  we  are  in  a  period  of 
waiting  for  the  direction  of  events.    It  came 


Dead-Sea  Fruit 


137 


.,e6^ 


>" 


■\y^ 


9^ 


tJV 


this  time  in  tragic  accents  that  for  ever 
cured  the  unfortunate  Breton  of  his  listless 
trust  in  fate. 

Fulbert  learned  at  length  that  Heloise  had 
been  sent  to  Argenteuil,  and  had  taken  the 
habit.  The  canon  at  once  inferred  that  this 
was  a  preliminary  step  to  a  dissolution  of 
the  marriage.  He  would  be  unaware  that 
''it  had  been  consummated,  and  would  sup- 
pose that    Ab^lard  intended  to  apply  to 


r\ 


>  v 


>'^ome  for  a  dispensation  to  relieve  him  of 
an  apparent  embarrassment.  He  decided 
on  a  fearful  revenge,  which  should  at  least 
prevent  Ab^lard  from  marrying  another. 

And  one  early  morning,  a  little  later, 
Paris  was  in  a  frenzy  of  excitement.  Canons, 
students,  and  citizens,  thronged  the  streets, 
and  pressed  towards  Abelard's  house  on  St. 
Genevieve.  "  Almost  the  entire  city,"  says 
Pulques,  "went  clamouring  towards  his 
house :  women  wept  as  though  each  one 
had  lost  her  husband."  Ab^lard  had  been 
brutally  mutilated  during  the  night.  Hire- 
lings of  Canon  Pulbert  had  corrupted  his 
valet,  and  entered  his  room  whilst  he  slept. 


138 


Peter  Abdlard 


f 


They  had  perpetrated  an  indescribable  out- 
rage, such  as  was  not  infrequently  inflicted 
in  the  quarrels  of  the  Patareni  and  the  Nico- 
laitas.  In  that  dark  night  the  sunshine  disap- 
peared for  ever  from  the  life  of  Pierre  Ab^lard. 
Henceforth  we  have  to  deal  with  a  new  man. 

It  is  a  pious  theory  of  the  autobiographist 
himself  that  this  mutilation  led  indirectly  to 
his  *' conversion/'  There  is  undoubtedly 
much  truth  in  this  notion  of  an  indirect  oc- 
casioning of  better  thoughts  and  of  an  indi- 
rect influence  being  cast  on  his  mind  for  life. 
Yet  we  of  the  later  date,  holding  a  truer 
view  of  the  unity  of  human  nature,  and  of 
the  place  that  sex-influence  occupies  in  its 
life,  can  see  that  the  ''conversion*'  was 
largely  a  direct,  physical  process.  We  have, 
in  a  very  literal  sense,  another  man  to  deal 
with  henceforward. 

As  Ab^lard  lay  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  the 
conversion  gradually  worked  onwards  to- 
wards a  critical  decision.  It  is  not  clear 
that  the  mutilation  would  prove  of  itself  an 
impediment  to  scholastic  honour  or  ecclesi- 
astical oflice,  but  the  old  life  could  not  be 


Dead-Sea  Fruit 


139 


faced  again  by  one  with  so  little  strength 
and  so  keen  a  sensibility.  '*  I  pondered  on 
the  glory  I  had  won  and  on  the  swift  chance 
blow  that  had  obscured  it,  nay,  wholly  ex- 
tinguished it ;  on  the  just  judgment  of  God 
by  which  I  had  been  punished  in  the  mem- 
ber that  had  sinned  ;  on  the  justice  of  treach- 
ery coming  from  him  whom  I  had  myself 
betrayed ;  on  the  joy  of  my  rivals  at  such 
a  humiliation  :  on  the  endless  sorrow  this 
wound  would  mflict  on  my  family  and  my 
friends  ;  on  the  speed  with  which  this  deep 
disgrace  would  travel  through  the  world. 
What  path  was  open  to  me  now?  How 
could  1  ever  walk  abroad  again,  to  be  pointed 
at  by  every  finger,  ridiculed  by  every  tongue, 
a  monstrous  spectacle  to  all  ?  .  .  .  In 
such  sorry  plight  as  I  was,  the  confusion  of 
shame  rather  than  a  devout  conversion  im- 
pelled me  to  seek  refuge  in  the  monastery." 
To  this  natural  '*  confusion  of  shame  "  we 
must  look  for  an  explanation  of,  not  merely 
the  folly,  but  the  cruelty  and  selfishness,  of 
Abelard's  proposal.  It  involved  the  burial 
of  Heloise  in  a  nunnery.     No  one  could 


n 


I40 


Peter  Abelard 


shrink  more  feelingly  from  the  unnatural 
shade  of  the  cloister  than  did  Heloise,  as 
Abelard  must  have  known,  but  in  his  pain 
and  despair  he  forgot  the  elementary  dic- 
tate of  love  or  of  honour.  In  any  other  cir- 
cumstances the  act  would  be  deemed  brutal. 
Indeed,  he  wantonly  increased  the  suffering 
of  his  young  wife  by  ordering  her  to  take 
the  vows  first.  Twenty  years  afterwards 
she  plaintively  tells  him  the  sorrow  he  gave 
her  by  such  a  command.  '*God  knows," 
she  says,  ''  I  should  not  have  hesitated,  at 
your  command,  to  precede  or  to  follow  you 
to  hell  itself  She  was  ''profoundly  grieved 
and  ashamed  "  at  the  distrust  which  seemed 
to  be  implied  in  his  direction.  But  hers  was 
the  love  that ''  is  stronger  than  death,"  and 
she  complied  without  a  murmur,  making  of 
her  sunny  nature  one  more  victim  on  the 
altar  of  masculine  selfishness. 

Abelard  has  left  us  a  dramatic  picture  of 
her  taking  the  vows.  It  shows  clearly  that 
the  love  which  impelled  her  to  such  a  sacri- 
fice was  not  the  blind,  childlike  affection 
that  is  wholly  merged  in  the  stronger  loved 


Dead-Sea  Fruit 


141 


one,  but  the  deep,  true  love  that  sees  the 
full  extent  of  the  sacrifice  demanded,  and 
accepts  it  with  wide-open  eyes.  At  the  last 
moment  a  little  group  of  friends  surrounded 
her  in  the  convent  -  chapel.  The  veil, 
blessed  by  the  bishop,  lay  on  the  altar  be- 
fore them,  and  they  were  endeavouring  to 
dissuade  her  from  going  forward  to  take  it. 
She  waved  them  aside— waved  aside  for  the 
last  time  the  thought  of  her  child  and  the 
vision  of  a  sun-lit  earth  —and  took  the  fate- 
ful step  towards  the  altar.  Then,  standing 
on  the  spot  where  the  young  nun  generally 
knelt  for  the  final  thanksgiving  to  God,  she 
recited  with  the  tense  fervour  of  a  human 
prayer  the  words  of  Cornelia  in  Lucan  : 

*'  O  spouse  most  great, 
O  thou  whose  bed  my  merit  could  not  share  ! 
How  hath  an  evil  fortune  worked  this  wrong 
On  thy  dear  head  ?    Why  hapless  did  I  wed, 
If  this  the  fruit  that  my  affection  bore  ? 
Behold  the  penalty  I  now  embrace 
For  thy  sweet  sake  I " 

And,  weeping  and  sobbing,  she  walked 
quickly  up  the  steps  of  the  altar,  and 
covered  herself  with  the  veil  of  the  religious 
profession. 


Chapter  VI 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 

A  BELARD  had  now  entered  upon  the 
series  of  blunders  which  were  to  make 
his  life  a  succession  of  catastrophes.  A 
stronger  man  would  have  retired  to  Pallet, 
and  remained  there  until  the  discussion  of 
his  outrage  had  abated  somewhat ;  then 
boldly,  and,  most  probably,  with  complete 
success,  have  confronted  the  scholastic 
world  once  more,  with  his  wife  for  fitting 
companion,  like  Manegold  of  Alsace.  In 
his  distraction  and  abnormal  sense  of  humili- 
ation, Abelard  grasped  the  plausible  promise 
of  the  monastic  life.  In  the  second  place, 
he,  with  a  peculiar  blindness,  chose  the 
abbey  of  St.  Denis  for  his  home. 

The  abbey  of  Sr.  Denis  was  not  only  one 
of  the  most  famous  monasteries  in  Europe, 

but  also  a  semi-religious,  semi-secular  mon- 

142 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


143 


archical  institution.  It  was  the  last  mon- 
astery in  the  world  to  provide  that  quiet 
seclusion  which  Abelard  sought.  It  lay 
about  six  miles  from  Paris,  near  one  of  the 
many  bends  of  the  Seine  on  its  jour- 
ney to  the  sea.  Dagobert  was  its  royal 
founder;  its  church  was  built  over  the 
alleged  bones  of  the  alleged  St.  Denis  the 
Areopagite,  the  patron  of  France ;  it  was 
the  burial-place  of  the  royal  house.  Over 
its  altar  hung  the  oriflamme  of  St.  Denis, 
the  palladium  of  the  country,  which  the 
king  came  to  seek,  with  solemn  rite  and 
procession,  whenever  the  cry  of  *'  St.  Denis 
for  France"  rang  through  the  kingdom. 
Amongst  its  several  hundred  monks  were 
the  physicians  and  the  tutors  of  kings- 
Prince  Louis  of  France  was  even  then  study- 
ing in  its  school. 

Rangeard,  in  his  history  of  Brittany,  says, 
that  at  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century 
there  were  more  irregular  than  regular  ab- 
beys in  France.  Abelard  himself  writes  that 
"nearly  all  the  monasteries"  of  his  time 
were  worldly.    The  truth  is  that  few  mon- 


144 


Peter  Abdlard 


asteries,  beside  those  which  had  been  very 
recently  reformed,  led  a  very  edifying  life. 
Hence  it  is  not  surprising,  when  one  regards 
the  secular  associations  of  the  place,  to  find 
that  the  Benedictine  abbey  of  St.  Denis  was 
in  a  very  lax  condition.  Ab^lard  soon  dis- 
covered that,  as  he  says,  it  was  an  abbey 
"  of  very  worldly  and  most  disgraceful  life." 
The  great  rhetorician  has  a  weakness  for  the 
use  of  superlatives,  but  other  witnesses  are 
available.  St.  Bernard  wrote  of  it,  in  his 
famed,  melifluous  manner,  that  it  was  cert- 
ain the  monks  gave  to  Caesar  the  things 
that  were  Cassar's,  but  doubtful  if  they  gave 
to  God  the  things  that  were  God's.  A 
chronicler  of  the  following  century,  Guil- 
laume  de  Mangis,  writes  that  "the  monks 
scarcely  exhibited  even  the  appearance  of 
religion." 

The  abbey  had  not  been  reformed  since 
994,  so  that  human  nature  had  had  a  con- 
siderable period  in  which  to  assert  itself. 
The  preceding  abbot,  Ives  1.,  was  accused 
at  Rome  of  having  bought  his  dignity  in  a 
flagrant  manner.    The  actual  abbot,  Adam, 


iV 


>  ) 

1/ 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis  145 

is  said  by  Ab^Iard  to  have  been  "as  much 
worse  in  manner  of  life  and  more  notorious 
than  the  rest  as  he  preceded  them  in  dig- 
nity.      It  IS  certainly  significant  that  the 
Benedictine  historian  of  the  abbey,  Dom 
Fdibien,  can  find  nothing  to  put  to  the 
credit  of  Adam,  in  face  of  Ab^lard's  charge 
except  a  certain   generosity  to  the   poor' 
Nor  have  later  apologists  for  the  angels,  de 
Nangis,  Duchesne,  etc.,  been  more  success- 
fu.    Ecclesiastical  history  only  finds  con- 
solation in  the  fact  that  Adam's  successor ' 
was  converted  by  Bernard  in  1,27,  and  at 
once  set  about  the  reform  of  the  abbey 

When  Ab^lard  donned  the  black  tunic  of 
the  Benedictine  monk   in  it,  probably  in 
n  19,  the  royal  abbey  was  at  the  height  of 
Its  gay  career.     St.  Bernard  himself  gives  a 
bright  picture  of  its  life  in  one  of  his  letters 
He  speaks  of  the  soldiers  who  thronged  its 
cloisters,  the  jests  and  songs  that  echoed 
from  Its  vaulted  roofs,  the  women  who  con- 
tributed to  its  gaiety  occasionally.     From 
frequent  passages  in  Ab^lard  we  learn  that 
the  monks  often  held  high  festival.     It  may 


146  Peter  Abdlard 

be  noted  that  monastic  authorities  nearly 
always  give  occasion  to  these  festivities,  for, 
even  in  the  severest  rules,  one  always  finds 
an  egg   or  some  other  unwonted  luxury, 
admitted  on  "  feast-days."     It  is  the  conse- 
cration of  a  principle  that  no  body  of  men 
and  women  on  earth  can  apply  and  ap- 
preciate better  than  monks  and  nuns.    The 
feasts  of  St.   Denis  rivalled  those  of  any 
chateau  in  gay  France.     The  monks  were 
skilful  at  mixing  wine  -  it  is  a  well-pre- 
served monastic  tradition-their  farmer-vas- 
sals supplied  food  of  the  best  in  abundance, 
and  they  hired  plenty  of  conjurors,  singers 
dancers,  jesters,  etc.,  to  aid  the  task  of 

digestion. 

>4or  was  the  daily  life  too  dull  and  bur- 
densome. Royal  councils  were  frequently 
held  at  the  abbey,  and  one  does  not  need 
much  acquaintance  with  monastic  life  to 
appreciate  that  circumstance.  Then  there 
was  the  school  of  the  abbey,  with  its  kingly 
and  noble  pupils -and  correspondmg  visit- 
ors •  there  was  the  continual  stream  of  in- 
teresting guests  to  this  wealthiest  and  most 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


H7 


famous  of  all  abbeys  ;  there  was  the  town 
of  St.  Denis,  which  was  so  intimately  de- 
pendent on  the  abbey.  Above  all,  there 
were  the  country-houses,  of  which  the  ab- 
bey had  a  large  number,  and  from  which  it 
obtained  a  good  deal  of  its  income.  Some 
dying  sinner  would  endeavour  to  corrupt 
the  Supreme  Judge  by  handing  over  a  farm 
or  a  chateau,  with  its  cattle,  and  men  and 
women,  and  other  commodities  of  value,  to 
the  monks  of  the  great  abbey.  These 
would  be  turned  into  snug  little  "  cells  "  or 
"  priories,"  and  important  sources  of  reve- 
nue. Sometimes,  too,  they  had  to  be  fought 
for  in  the  courts,  if  not  by  force  of  arms. 
Ab^lard  complains  that  "  we  [monks]  com- 
pel our  servants  to  fight  duels  for  us  "  :  he 
has  already  complained  of  the  frequeni  pre- 
sentation to  monasteries  of  both  man  and 
maid  servants.  In  mi,  we  find  some  of 
the  monks  of  St.  Denis,  at  the  head  of  a 
small  army,  besieging  the  chateau  of  Puiset, 
capturing  its  lieutenant,  and  casting  him 
into  a  monastic  prison.  At  Toury,  Abbot 
Adam  had  his  important  dependence  armed 


148  Peter  Ab61ard 

as  a  fortress,  and  made  a  financial  specula- 
tion  in  the  opening  of  a  public  market 
Rangeard  tells  us.  in  addition,  that  many  of 
the  monks  were  expert  in  canon  law,  and 
they  travelled  a  good  deal,  journeying  fre- 
quently to  Rome  in  connection  with  matri- 
monial and  other  suits. 

But  before  Ab^lard  turned  his  attention 
to  the  condition  of  the  abbey,  he  was  long 
preoccupied  with  the  thought  of  revenge^ 
Revenge  was  a  branch  virtue  of  justice  in 
those  days,  and  Abelard  duly  demanded  the 

punishment  of  ^.//o.    ^he^f  *' ^I'to  ' 
betrayed  him,  and  one  of  the  mutilators, 
had  been  captured,  and  had  lost  their  eyes 
in  addition  to  suffering  the  same  mutilation 
as  they  had  inflicted.    But  Abdard  seems 
to  have  been   painfully  insistent  on  the 
punishment  of  Fulbert.    The   matter  be^ 
longed  to  the  spiritual  court,  since  Abelard 
was  a  cleric,  and  Bishop  Girbert  does  not 
seem  to  have  moved  quickly  enough  for 
the  new  monk.    Fulbert  escaped  from  Par.  . 
and  all  his  goods  were  confisca  ed.  but  th  s 
did  not  meet  Ab^lard's  (and  the  current) 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis  149 

idea  of  justice.    He  began  to  talk  of  an 
appeal  to  Rome. 

In  these  circumstances  was  written  the 
famous  letter  of  Prior  Pulques,  to  which  we 
have  referred  more  than  once.    It  is  a  char- 
acteristic   piece   of  media5val    diplomacy. 
Pulques  was  the  prior  of  Deuil,  in  the 
valley  of  Montmorency,  a  dependency  of 
the  abbey  of  St.  Plorent  de  Saumur.    He 
was  apparently  requested  by  the  Abbot  of 
St.   Denis  to  persuade  Abelard  to  let  the 
matter  rest.    At  all  events,  he  begins  his 
letter  with  a  rhetorical  description  of  AU- 
lard's  success  as  ?  teacher,  depicting  Britons 
and  Italians  and  Spaniards  braving  the  ter- 
rors of  the  sea,  the  Alps,  and  the  Pyrenees, 
under  the  fascination  of  Ab^lard's  repute.' 
Then,  with  a  view  to  dissuading  him  from 
the  threatened  appeal  to  Rome,  he  reminds 
him  of  his  destitution  and  of  the  notorious 
avarice  of  Rome.    There  is  no  reason  why 
we  should  hesitate  to  accept  Fulques's  as- 
sertion that  Abelard  had  no  wealth  to  offer 
the  abbey  when  he  entered  it.    If,  as  seems 
to  be   the   more  correct   proceeding,   we 


^^W 


Peter  Abelard 
fonowthe  opinion  that  he  spent.hein.eml 

between  .he  «-»  »'*j7^  ^  ,";'  '  ^^ 
the  marriage  with  her  at  raier,  " 
tave  earned  much  during  the  I"e«'img  two 
„  three  vears     He  was  hardly  likely  .0  be 
';S:nd  economical  per»n.M^^ 
of  whatever  money  he  earned,  after  he  fir  t 
bejan  to  serve  up  stale  dishes  to  his  studente 
in  the  absorption  of  his  Pass'on,  wouM 

probably  pass  into  the  "f^  °' ^"'"'{^"J; 

later  of  the  nunnery  at  Argenteuil.    There 

f„„  need  whatever  .0  entertain  theone 

of  licentiousness  from  that  jound  We 
have,  moreover,  already  sufficiently  dis- 
cuss;d  that  portion  of  Fulques'sletta. 

But  the  second  part  of  the  prior  s  argu 
„ent.  the  avarice  of  Rome  'eq".res  a  word 
«f  rnmment     It  is  characteristic  of  the  ec 
e  aShistorian  .hat  inMigne's  version 

of  Fulques's  letter  the  in*^""™*  "' ^'^^. 
lard  is  given  without  comment,  and  the  in 
dictment  of  Rome  is  unblushingly  omitted. 
1  mTght  be  retorted  that  such  historians  as 
DeTiSh  and  Hausrath  insert  the  indictment 
ag  nst  Rome,  and  make  a  thousand  apolo- 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis  151 

gies  for  inserting  the  charge  against  Abelard. 
The  retort  would  be  entirely  without  sting, 
since  a  mass  of  independent  evidence  sus- 
tains the  one  charge,  whilst  the  other  is  at 
variance  with  evidence.  The  passage  omit- 
ted in  Migne,  which  refers  to  Ab^Iard's 
proposal  to  appeal  to  Rome,  runs  as  follows. 

"O  pitiful  and  wholly  useless  proposal !  Hast  thou 
never  heard  of  the  avarice  and  the  impurity  of  Rome  ? 
Who  is  wealthy  enough  to  satisfy  that  devouring 
whirlpool  of  harlotry  ?  Who  would  ever  be  able  to 
fill  their  avaricious  purses  ?  Thy  resources  are  en- 
tirely insufficient  for  a  visit  to  the  Roman  Pontiff. 
...  For  all  those  who  have  approached  that  see 
in  our  time  without  a  weight  of  gold  have  lost  their 
cause,  and  have  returned  in  confusion  and  disgrace." 

Let  us,  in  justice,  make  some  allowance 
for  the  exigency  of  diplomacy  and  the  pur- 
poses of  rhetoric;  the  substance  of  the 
charge  is  abundantly  supported  by  other 
passages  in  Migne's  own  columns.  For 
instance,  Abbot  Suger,  in  his  F/to  Ludovid 
Grossi,  says  of  his  departure  from  Rome 
after  a  certain  mission,  "evading the  avarice 
of  the  Romans  we  took  our  leave."  The 
same  abbot  speaks  of  their  astonishment  at 


4lH| 


152  Peter  Abelard 

St.    Denis   when  Paschal    II.   visited  the 
abbey  in  i  io6  :  "  contrary  to  the  custom  of 
the  Romans  ;  he  not  only  expressed  no  affec- 
tion for  the  gold,  silver,  and  precious  pearls 
of  the  monastery  (about  which  much  fear 
had  been  entertained),"  but  did  not  even 
look  at  them.    It  may  be  noted,  without 
prejudice,  that   Paschal  was  seeking  the 
sympathy  and  aid  of  France  in  his  quarrel 
with  Germany.    In  the  apology  of  Beren- 
garius,  which  is  also  found  in  Migne,  there 
is  mention  of  "a  Roman  who  had  learned 
to  love  gold,  rather  than  God,  in  the  Roman 
curia."    Bernard  of  Cluny,  a  more  respect- 
able witness,  tersely  informs  us  that  "  Rome 
gives  to  everyone  who  gives  Rome  all  he 
has."    Matthew  of  Paris  is  equally  uncom- 
plimentary.   We  have  spoken  already  of 
the  licentious  young  fitienne  de  Garlande 
and  his  proposal  of  going  to  Rome  to  buy 
the  curia's  consent  to  his  installation  in  a 
bishopric ;  also  of  the  rumour  that  Pope 
Paschal  disapproved,  out  of  avarice,  the 
censure  passed  on   the   adulterous   king. 
Duboulai,  after  giving  Fulques's  letter,  is 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


153 


content  to  say  that  the  pope  feared  too 
great  an  interference  with  the  officials  of 
the  curia  on  account  of  the  papal  schism. 

Whether  the  letter  of  the  monastic  diplo- 
matist had  any  weight  with  Abelard  or  no, 
it  seems  that  he  did  desist  from  his  plan, 
and  laid  aside  all  thought  of  Fulbert.  But 
the  unfortunate  monk  soon  discovered  the 
disastrous  error  he  had  made  in  seeking 
peace  at  the  abbey  of  St.  Denis.  There 
had,  in  fact,  been  a  serious  mistake  on  both 
sides.  The  monks  welcomed  one  whom 
they  only  knew  as  a  lively,  witty,  interest- 
ing associate,  a  master  of  renown,  a  poet 
and  musician  of  merit.  A  new  attraction 
would  accrue  to  their  abbey,  a  new  dis- 
traction to  their  own  life,  by  the  admission 
of  Abelard.  The  diversion  of  the  stream  of 
scholars  from  Paris  to  St.  Denis  would  bring 
increased  colour,  animation,  and  wealth. 
The  erudite  troubadour  and  brilliant  scholar 
would  be  an  excellent  companion  in  the 
refectory,  when  the  silent  meal  was  over, 
and  the  wine  invited  conversation. 

They  were   rudely   awakened  to  their 


f 


154 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


155 


J 


error  when  Abelard  began  to  lash  them  with 
mordant  irony  for  their  ''intolerable  un- 
cleanness/'  They  found  that  the  love- 
inspired  songster  was  dead.  They  had 
introduced  a  kind  of  Bernard  of  Clairvaux, 
a  man  of  wormwood  valleys,  into  their 
happy  abbey  :  a  morose,  ascetic,  sternly 
consistent  monk,  who  poured  bitter  scorn 
on  the  strong  wines  and  pretty  maids,  the 
high  festivals  and  pleasant  excursions,  with 
which  the  brothers  smoothed  the  rough 
path  to  Paradise.  And  when  the  gay  Latin 
Quarter  transferred  itself  to  St.  Denis,  and 
clamoured  for  the  brilliant  master,  Abelard 
utterly  refused  to  teach.  Abbot  Adam 
gently  remonstrated  with  his  **  subject," 
pointing  out  that  he  ought  now  to  do  more 
willingly  for  the  honour  of  God  and  the 
sake  of  his  brothers  in  religion  what  he  had 
formerly  done  out  of  worldly  and  selfish 
interest.  Whereupon  Abbot  Adam  was 
urgently  reminded  of  a  few  truths,  nearly 
concerning  himself  and  ''the  brothers,'' 
which,  if  not  new  to  his  conscience,  were 
at  least  novel  to  his  ears. 


So  things  dragged  on  for  a  while,  but 
Adam  was  forced  at  length  to  rid  the 
monastery  of  the  troublesome  monk.  Find- 
ing a  pretext  in  the  importunity  of  the  stud- 
ents, he  sent  Abelard  down  the  country  to 
erect  his  chair  in  one  of  the  dependencies 
of  the  abbey.  These  country-houses  have 
already  been  mentioned.  Large  estates 
were  left  to  the  abbey  in  various  parts  of 
the  country.  Monks  had  to  be  sent  to 
these  occasionally,  to  collect  the  revenue 
from  the  farmers  and  millers,  and,  partly  for 
their  own  convenience,  partly  so  that  they 
might  return  something  in  spiritual  service 
to  the  district,  they  built  "cells  "  or  "ora- 
tories "  on  the  estates.  Frequently  the  cell 
became  a  priory  ;  not  infrequently  it  rebelled 
against  the  mother-house ;  nearly  always, 
as  is  the  experience  of  the  monastic  orders 
at  the  present  day,  it  was  a  source  of  re- 
laxation and  decay. 

The  precise  locality  of  the  "  cell  "  which 
was  entrusted  to  Brother  Peter  is  matter  of 
dispute,  and  the  question  need  not  delay 
us.     It  was  somewhere  on  the  estates  of 


156 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


157 


^' 


Count  Theobald  of  Champagne,  and  there- 
fore not  very  far  from  Paris.  Here  Abelard 
consented  to  resume  his  public  lectures,  and 
'*  gathered  his  horde  of  barbarians  about 
him  "  once  more,  in  the  jealous  phrase  of 
Canon  Roscelin. 

Otto  von  Freising  relates  that  Abelard 
had  now  become  ''more  subtle  and  more 
learned  than  ever."  There  is  no  reason  to 
doubt  that  he  continued  to  advance  in 
purely  intellectual  power,  but  it  seems  in- 
evitable that  he  must  have  lost  much  of  the 
brightness  and  charm  of  his  earlier  manner. 
Yet  his  power  and  his  fascination  were  as 
great  as  ever.  Maisoncelle,  or  whatever 
village  it  was,  was  soon  transformed  into 
the  intellectual  centre  of  France.  It  is  said 
by  some  historians  that  three  thousand 
students  descended  upon  the  village,  like  a 
bewildering  swarm  of  locusts.  Abelard  says 
the  concourse  was  so  great  that  ''the 
district  could  find  neither  hospitality  nor 
food"  for  the  students.  One  need  not 
evolve  from  that  an  army  of  several  thou- 
sand admirers,  but  it  seems  clear  that  there 


was  a  second  remarkable  gathering  of  stud- 
ents from  all  parts  of  Christendom.  There 
was  no  teacher  of  ability  to  succeed  him  at 
Paris  ;  he  was  still  the  most  eminent  mas- 
ter in  Europe.  Even  if  he  had  lost  a  little 
of  the  sparkle  of  his  sunny  years,  no  other 
master  had  ever  possessed  it.  Indeed,  it  is 
not  audacious  to  think  that  the  renewal  of 
his  early  success  and  the  sweetness  of  life 
in  lovely  Champagne  may  have  in  time 
quickened  again  such  forces  and  graces  of 
his  character  as  had  not  been  physically 
eradicated.  He  began  to  see  a  fresh  po- 
tentiality of  joy  in  life. 

Unfortunately  for  Abelard,  his  perverse 
destiny  had  sent  him  down  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Rheims.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  Anselm  of  Laon  was  urged  to 
suppress  Ab^lard's  early  theological  efforts 
by  two  of  his  fellow-pupils,  Alberic  of 
Rheims  and  Lotulphe  of  Novare.  Alberic 
appears  to  have  been  a  man  of  ability,  and 
he  had  been  made  archdeacon  of  the  cathe- 
dral, and  head  of  the  episcopal  school,  at 
Rheims.     He  had  associated  Lotulphe  with 


158 


Peter  Ab61ard 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


159 


li 


himself  in  the  direction  of  the  schools,  and 
they  were  teaching  with  great  success  when 
Abelard  appeared  on  the  near  horizon. 
Anselm  of  Laon  and  William  of  Champeaux 
had  gone,  and  the  two  friends  were  eager 
to  earn  the  title  of  their  successors.  The 
apparent  extinction  of  Master  Abelard  had 
largely  increased  their  prestige,  and  had 
filled  the  school  of  Rheims.  Indeed,  we 
gather  from  the  details  of  a  ''town  and 
gown"  fight  which  occurred  at  Rheims 
about  this  time  that  the  students  had  al- 
most come  to  outnumber  the  citizens. 

Hence  it  is  not  surprising  that  Ab^lard's 
new-found  peace  was  soon  disturbed  by  ru- 
mours of  the  lodging  of  complaints  against 
him  in  high  quarters.  The  Archbishop  of 
Rheims,  Ralph  the  Green,  began  to  be  as- 
sailed with  charges.  In  the  first  place,  he 
was  reminded,  it  was  uncanonical  for  a 
monk  to  give  lectures,  and  take  up  a  per- 
manent residence  outside  his  monastery ; 
moreover,  the  said  monk  was  most  unmon- 
astically  engaged  in  reading  Aristotle,  with 
a   flavour   of    Vergil,    Ovid,    and    Lucan. 


Raoul  le  Vert  probably  knew  enough  about 
St.  Denis  not  to  attempt  to  force  Abelard 
to  return  to  it.  Then  the  grumblers  — 
*' chiefly  those  two  early  intriguers,"  says 
the  victim — urged  that  Abelard  was  teach- 
ing without  a  ''  respondent  "  ;  but  the 
archbishop  still  found  the  pretext  inade- 
quate. Then,  at  length  came  the  second 
great  cloud,  the  accusation  of  heresy. 

The  convert  had  now  made  theology  his 
chief  object  of  study.  The  students  who 
gathered  about  him  in  his  village  priory 
loudly  demanded  a  resumption  of  the  lect- 
ures on  dialectics  and  rhetoric,  but  Abelard 
had  really  passed  to  a  new  and » wholly  re- 
ligious outlook.  He  complied  with  the 
request,  only  with  a  secret  intention  that, 
as  he  states  in  the  Story,  philosophy 
should  be  used  as  a  bait  in  the  interest  of 
divinity.  The  religious  welfare  of  his  fol- 
lowers now  seriously  concerned  him.  It 
will  be  seen  presently  that  he  exercised  a 
strict  control  over  their  morals,  and  it  was 
from  the  purest  of  motives  that  he  endeav- 
oured, by  a  pious  diplomacy,  to  direct  their 


41^ 


f? 


i6o 


Peter  Ab^lard 


thoughts  to  the  study  of  Holy  Writ.  His 
rivals  and  enemies  have  attempted  to  cen- 
sure him  for  this  casting  of  pearls  before 
sw^ine.  Certainly  there  v/ere  dangers  ac- 
companying the  practice,  but  these  v^ere 
not  confined  to  Ab^lard's  school.  We  can 
easily  conceive  the  disadvantage  of  discuss- 
ing the  question,  for  instance,  utrum  Maria 
senserit  dolor  em  vel  delectationem  in  Christo 
concipiendo  ?  before  a  crowed  of  tw^elfth- 
century  students.  How^ever,  Ab^lard's  atti- 
tude v^as  w^holly  reverent,  and  his  intention 
as  pure  as  that  of  St.  Anselm. 

The  one  characteristic  feature  of  Ab^lard's 
theological  w^ork  — the  feature  w^hich  was 
constantly  seized  by  his  enemies,  and  v^hich 
invests  him  vs^ith  so  great  an  interest  for  the 
modern  student— v^as  his  concern  to  con- 
ciliate human  reason.  His  predecessors 
had  complacently  affirmed  that  reason  had 
no  title  to  respect  in  matters  of  faith.  They 
insulted  it  v/ith  such  pious  absurdities  as  "I 
believe  in  order  that  I  may  understand  "  and 
''  Faith  goeth  before  understanding."  Ab6- 
lard  remained  until  his  last  hour  constitu- 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


i6i 


tionally  incapable  of  adopting  that  attitude. 
He  frequently  attributes  his  obvious  con- 
cern to  meet  the  questioning  of  reason  to 
the  desire  of  helping  his  follov^ers.  This 
is  partly  a  faithful  interpretation  of  their 
thoughts— for  which,  however,  he  himself 
was  chiefly  responsible— and  partly  a  subtle 
projection  of  his  own  frame  of  mind  into 
his  hearers.  The  development  of  the  reas- 
oning faculty  which  was  involved  in  so 
keen  a  study  of  dialectics  was  bound  to  find 
expression  in  rationalism. 

Ab^lard  seems  already  to  have  written 
two  works  of  a  very  remarkable  character 
for  his  age.  One  of  these  is  entitled  A  Di- 
alogue between  a  Philosopher,  a  Jew,  and  a 
Christian.  It  may  have  been  founded  on 
Octavius  of  Minucius  Felix ;  on  the  other 
hand  it  may  be  classed  with  Lessing's  Na- 
than. It  has  been  called  ''the  most  radical 
expression  of  his  rationalism,"  and  it  would 
certainly  seem  to  embody  his  attitude  dur- 
ing the  period  of  his  highest  prosperity. 
The  ultimate  victory  lies  with  the  Christian, 
so  far  as  the  work  goes  (it  is  unfinished)^ 


l62 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


163 


but  incidentally  it  shows  more  than  one 
bold  departure  from  traditional  formulae. 
Abelard's  reluctance  to  consign  all  the 
heathen  philosophers  to  Tartarus  would  be 
highly  suspect  to  his  pious  contemporaries. 
It  is  a  matter  of  faith  in  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic Church  to-day  that  no  man  shall  enter 
heaven  who  has  not  a  belief  in  a  personal 
God,  at  least ;  many  theologians  add  the 
narrower  qualification  of  a  literal  acceptance 
of  the  Trinity.  But  Abelard  tempered  his 
audacity  by  proving  that  his  favourite 
heathens  had  this  qualification  of  a  know- 
ledge of  the  Trinity,  probably  under  the 
inspiration  of  St.  Augustine. 

The  Dialogue  was  not  much  assailed  by 
his  rivals  ;  probably  it  was  not  widely  cir- 
culated. It  is,  however,  an  important 
monument  of  Abelard's  genius.  It  antici- 
pated not  merely  the  rationalistic  attitude 
of  modern  theology,  but  also  quite  a  num- 
ber of  the  modifications  of  traditional  belief 
which  modern  rational  and  ethical  criticism 
has  imposed.  Abelard  regards  the  ethical 
content  of  Christianity,  and  finds  that  it  is 


only  the  elaboration  or  the  reformation  of 
the  natural  law,  the  true  essence  of  religion. 
God  has  given  this  essential  gift  in  every 
conscience  and  in  every  religion  ;  there  are 
no  outcasts  from  the  plan  of  salvation  ;  the 
higher  excellence  of  the  Christian  religion 
lies  in  its  clearer  formulation  of  the  law  of  life. 
The  popular  notion  of  heaven  and  hell  and 
deity  are  travesties  of  true  Christian  teaching. 
God,  as  a  purely  spiritual  being,  is  the  su- 
preme good,  and  heaven  is  an  approach  to 
Him  by  obedience  ;  hell,  isolation  from  Him. 
When  we  remember  that  Abelard  had  before 
him  only  the  works  of  the  fathers  and  such 
recent  speculations  as  those  of  Anselm,  we 
shall  surely  recognise  the  action  of  a  mind 
of  the  highest  order  in  these  debates. 

The  second  work  was  not  less  remark- 
able. It  was  a  collection  of  sentences  from 
the  fathers  on  points  of  dogma.  So  far  the 
compilation  would  be  an  admirable  one,  but 
apart  from  the  growing  accusation  that 
Abelard  was  wanting  in  reverence  for  the 
authority  of  the  fathers,  there  was  the  sus- 
picious circumstance  that  he  had  grouped 


1 64 


Peter  Abelard 


these  eighteen  hundred  texts  in  contradict- 
ory columns.    Thus  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
eight  questions  are  put  by  the  compiler, 
relating  to  God,  the  Trinity,  the  Redemp- 
tion, the  Sacraments,  and  so  forth.    The 
quotations  from  the  fathers  are  then  ar- 
ranged in  two  parallel  columns,  one  half 
giving  an  affirmative,  and  the  rest  a  negat- 
ive, answer  to  the  question.    Such  a  work 
would  be  perfectly  intelligible  if  it  came 
from  the  pen  of  a  modern  free  thinker. 
Ab^lard's  Sic  et  Nofi  (Yes  and  No),  as  the 
work  came  to  be  called,  has  borne  many  in- 
terpretations.   Such  careful  and  impartial 
students  of  Ab^lard's  work  as  Deutsch  pro- 
nounce the  critical  element  in  it  to  be  ''  con- 
structive, not  sceptical."    Most  probably  it 
was  the  intention  of  the  compiler  to  shatter 
the  excessive  regard  of  his  contemporaries 
for  the  words  of  the  fathers,  and  thus  to 
open  the  way  for  independent  speculation 
on  the  deposit  of  revelation  (to  which  he 
thought  he  had  as  much  right  as  Jerome  or 
Augustine),  by  making  a  striking  exhibition 
of  their  fallibility. 


The  Monk  of  St.  Denis 


165 


Neither  of  these  works  seems  to  have 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  Alberic.  Twenty 
years  afterwards  we  find  a  theologian  com- 
plaining of  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  some 
of  Ab^lard's  works,  which  had  been  kept 
secret.  He  probably  refers  to  one  or  both 
of  these  works.  However  that  may  be, 
Abelard  wrote  a  third  book  during  his  stay 
at  Maisoncelle,  and  on  this  the  charge  of 
heresy  was  fixed. 

Wiser  than  the  Church  of  those  days, 
and  anticipating  the  wisdom  of  the  modern 
Church  of  Rome,  Abelard  saw  the  great 
danger  to  the  faith  itself  of  the  Anselmian 
maxim,  Fides  prcecedit  intellectum.  He 
argued  that,  as  the  world  had  somehow 
outlived  the  age  of  miracles,  God  must  have 
intended  rational  evidence  to  take  its  place. 
In  any  case,  there  was  an  increasingly  large 
class  of  youths  and  men  who  clamoured  for 
''human  and  philosophic  grounds,"  as  he 
puts  it,  who  would  lie  to  their  consciences 
if  they  submitted  to  the  current  pietism. 
Abelard  believed  he  would  render  valuable 
service  to  the  Church  if  he  could  devise 


1 66 


Peter  Abelard 


rational  proofs,  or  at  least  analogies,  of  its 
dogmas.  It  was  in  this  frame  of  mind,  not 
in  a  spirit  of  destructive  scepticism,  that  he 
raised  the  standard  of  rationalism.  He  at 
once  applied  his  force  to  the  most  preter- 
rational  of  dogmas,  and  wrote  his  famous 
Treatise  on  the  Unity  and  Trinity  of  God. 

A  manuscript  of  the  treatise  was  discov- 
ered by  Stolzle  a  few  years  ago.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  inflict  on  the  reader  an  analysis 
of  the  work.  It  is  perfectly  sincere  and  re- 
ligious in  intention,  but,  like  every  book 
that  has  ever  been  penned  on  the  subject  of 
the  Trinity,  it  contains  illustrations  which 
can  be  proved  to  be  heretical.  We  may 
discuss  the  point  further  apropos  of  the 
Council  of  Soissons. 


Chapter    VII 

The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 

'T'HE  swiftly  multiplying  charges  seem  to 
*  have  impaired  Abelard's  health.  He 
became  much  more  sensitive  to  the  accusa- 
tion of  heresy  than  the  mere  injustice  of  it 
can  explain.  We  have  an  evidence  of  his 
morbid  state  at  this  period  in  a  letter  he 
wrote  to  the  Bishop  of  Paris.  The  letter 
must  not  be  regarded  as  a  normal  indica- 
tion of  the  writer's  character,  but,  like  the 
letter  of  Canon  Roscelin  which  it  elicited, 
it  is  not  a  little  instructive  about  the  age  in 
which  the  writers  lived.  There  are  hyper- 
critical writers  who  question  the  correct- 
ness of  attributing  these  letters  to  Abelard 
and  Roscelin,  but  the  details  they  contain 
refer  so  clearly  to  the  two  masters  that  any 
doubt  about  their  origin  is,  as  Deutsch  says, 

''frivolous  and  of  no  account";  he  adds 

167 


«■! 


1 68 


Peter  Ab^lard 


that  we  should  be  only  too  glad,  for  the 
sake  of  the  writers,  if  there  were  some  firm 
ground  for  contesting  their  genuineness. 

A  pupil  of  Ab^lard's,  coming  down  from 
Paris,  brought  him  word  that  Roscelin  had 
lodged  an  accusation  of  heresy  against  him 
with  the  bishop.  As  a  monk  of  St.  Denis, 
Abelard  still  belonged  to  Bishop  Gilbert's 
jurisdiction.  Roscelin  had  himself  been 
condemned  for  heresy  on  the  Trinity  at 
Soissons  in  1092,  but  his  was  an  accommod- 
ating rationalism  ;  he  was  now  an  import- 
ant member  of  the  chapter  of  St.  Martin 
at  Tours.  Report  stated  that  he  had  dis- 
covered heresy  in  Abelard's  new  work,  and 
was  awaiting  the  return  of  Gilbert  to  Paris 
in  order  to  submit  it  to  him.  Abelard  im- 
mediately grasped  the  pen,  and  forwarded 
to  Gilbert  a  letter  which  is  a  sad  exhibition 
of  ''nerves."  'M  have  heard,"  he  says, 
after  an  ornate  salutation  of  the  bishop  and 
his  clergy, 

"that  that  ever  inflated  and  long-standing  enemy  of 
the  Catholic  faith,  whose  manner  of  life  and  teaching 
are    notorious,    and  whose    detestable    heresy  was 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


169 


proved  by  the  fathers  of  the  Council  of  Soissons,  and 
punished  with  exile,  has  vomited  forth  many  calum- 
nies and  threats  against  me,  on  account  of  the  work 
I  have  written,  which  was  chiefly  directed  against 
his  heresy." 

And  SO  the  violent  and  exaggerated  account 
of  Roscelin's  misdeeds  continues.  The  prac- 
tical point  of  the  epistle  is  that  Abelard 
requests  the  bishop  to  appoint  a  place  and 
time  for  him  to  meet  Roscelin  face  to  face 
and  defend  his  work.  The  whole  letter  is 
marred  by  nervous  passion  of  the  most 
pitiful  kind.  It  terminates  with  a  ridiculous, 
but  characteristic,  dialectical  thrust  at  the 
nominalist:  ''In  that  passage  of  Scripture 
where  the  Lord  is  said  to  have  eaten  a  bit 
of  broiled  fish,  he  [Roscelin]  is  compelled 
to  say  that  Christ  ate,  not  a  part  of  the 
reality,  but  a  part  of  the  term  'broiled 
fish.'" 

Roscelin  replied  directly  to  Abelard,  be- 
sides writing  to  Gilbert.  The  letter  is  no 
less  characteristic  of  the  time,  though  pro- 
bably an  equally  unsafe  indication  of  the 
character  of  the  writer.  "  If,"  it  begins,  in 
the  gentle  manner  of  the  time, 


r   > 


-.r,i 


<L 


170 


Peter  Abdiard 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


171 


**you  had  tasted  a  little  of  that  sweetness  of  the 
Christian  religion  which  you  profess  by  your  habit, 
you  would  not,  unmindful  of  your  order  and  your 
profession,  and  forgetful  of  the  countless  benefits  you 
received  from  my  teaching  from  your  childhood  to 
youth,  have  so  far  indulged  in  words  of  malice  against 
me  as  to  disturb  the  brethren's  peace  with  the  sword 
of  the  tongue,  and  to  contemn  our  Saviours  most 
salutary  and  easy  commands." 

He  accepts,  with  an  equally  edifying  hu- 
mility, Ab^lard's  fierce  denunciation:  ''I 
see  myself  in  your  words  as  in  a  mirror. 
Yet  God  is  powerful  to  raise  up  out  of  the 
very  stones,''  etc.  But  he  cannot  long  sus- 
tain the  unnatural  tone,  and  he  suddenly 
collapses  into  depths  of  mediaeval  Latin, 
which  for  filth  and  indecency  rival  the 
lowest  productions  of  Billingsgate.  The 
venerable  canon  returns  again  and  again, 
in  the  course  of  his  long  letter,  to  Abelard's 
mutilation,  and  with  the  art  of  a  Terence  or 
a  Plautus.  As  to  the  proposed  debate,  he 
is  only  too  eager  for  it.  If  Ab^lard  attempts 
to  shirk  it  at  the  last  moment,  he  ''will 
follow  him  all  over  the  world."  He  finally 
dies  away  in  an  outburst  of  childish  rage 
which  beats  Abelard's  peroration.    He  will 


not  continue  any  longer  because  it  occurs  to 
him  that  Ab^lard  is,  by  the  strictest  force  of 
logic,  a  nonentity.  He  is  not  a  monk,  for  he 
is  giving  lessons ;  he  is  not  a  cleric,  for  he  has 
parted  with  the  soutane  ;  he  is  not  a  layman, 
for  he  has  the  tonsure ;  he  is  not  even  the 
Peter  he  signs  himself,  for  Peter  is  a  mascu- 
line name. 

These  were  the  two  ablest  thinkers  of 
Christendom  at  the  time.  Fortunately  for 
both,  the  battle  royal  of  the  dialecticians 
did  not  take  place.  Possibly  Roscelin  had 
not  lodged  the  rumoured  complaint  at  all. 
In  any  case  Gilbert  was  spared  a  painful 
and  pitiful  scene. 

A  short  time  afterwards,  however,  Alberic 
and  Lotulphe  found  an  excellent  opportunity 
to  take  action.  Some  time  in  the  year  112 1 
a  papal  legate,  Conon,  Bishop  of  Praeneste, 
came  to  Rheims.  Conon  had  been  travel- 
ling in  France  for  some  years  as  papal  legate, 
and  since  it  was  the  policy  of  Rome  to  con- 
ciliate France,  in  view  of  the  hostility  of 
Germany,  the  legate  had  a  general  mission 
to  make  himself  as  useful  and  obliging  as 


$ 


III     illL 


172 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


^n 


possible.  Archbishop  Ralph,  for  his  part, 
would  find  it  a  convenient  means  of  gratify- 
ing his  teachers,  without  incurring  much 
personal  responsibility.  The  outcome  of 
their  conferences  was,  therefore,  that  Ab6- 
lard  received  from  the  legate  a  polite  invi- 
tation to  appear  at  a  provincial  synod,  or 
council,  which  was  to  be  held  at  Soissons, 
and  to  bring  with  him  his  * 'celebrated  work 
on  the  Trinity."  The  sirfiple  monk  was 
delighted  at  the  apparent  opportunity  of 
vindicating  his  orthodoxy.  It  was  his  first 
trial  for  heresy. 

When  the  time  drew  near  for  what  Ab6- 
lard  afterwards  called  ''their  conventicle," 
he  set  out  for  Soissons  with  a  small  band 
of  friends,  who  were  to  witness  the  chastise- 
ment of  Alberic  and  Lotulphe.  But  those 
astute  masters  had  not  so  naive  a  view  of 
the  function  of  a  council.  Like  St.  Bernard, 
with  whom,  indeed,  they  were  already  in 
correspondence,  they  relied  largely  on  that 
art  of  ecclesiastical  diplomacy  which  is  the 
only  visible  embodiment  of  the  Church's 
supernatural  power.    Moreover,  they  had 


the  curious  ecclesiastical  habit  of  deciding 
that  an  end— in  this  case,  the  condemna- 
tion of  Abelard— was  desirable,  and  then 
piously  disregarding  the  moral  quality  of 
the  means  necessary  to  attain  it.  How  far 
the  two  masters  had  arranged  all  the  con- 
ditions of  the  council  we  cannot  say,  but 
these  certainly  favoured  their  plans. 

Soissons,  to  begin  with,  was  excellently 
suited  for  the  holding  of  a  council  which 
was  to  condemn  rather  than  investigate. 
Its  inhabitants  would  remember  the  sentence 
passed  on  Roscelin  for  a  like  offence.  In 
fact,  Longueval  says,  in  his  Histoire  de 
VEglise  Gallicane,  that  the  people  of  Sois- 
sons were  religious  fanatics  as  a  body, 
and  had  of  their  own  impulse  burned,  or 
"lynched,"  a  man  who  was  suspected  of 
Manichasism,  only  a  few  years  previously. 
Alberic  and  Lotulphe  had  taken  care  to 
revive  this  pious  instinct,  by  spreading 
amongst  the  people  the  information  that 
"the  foreign  monk,"  "the  eunuch  of  St. 
Denis,"  who  was  coming  to  the  town  to 
be  tried,  had  openly  taught  the  error  of 


174 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


175 


tri-theism.  The  consequence  was  that  when 
the  Benedictine  monk  appeared  in  the  streets 
with  his  few  admirers,  he  had  a  narrow 
escape  from  being  stoned  to  death  by  the 
excited  citizens.  It  was  a  rude  shock  to  his 
dream  of  a  great  dialectical  triumph. 

On  one  point,  however,  Abelard's  simple 
honesty  hit  upon  a  correct  measure.  He 
went  straight  to  Bishop  Conon  with  his 
work,  and  submitted  it  for  the  legate's 
perusal  and  personal  judgment.  The  po- 
litician was  embarrassed.  He  knew  no- 
thing whatever  about  theology,  and  would 
lose  his  way  immediately  in  Abelard's 
subtle  analogies.  However,  he  bade  Abe- 
lard take  the  book  to  the  archbishop  and 
the  two  masters.  They  in  turn  fumbled  it 
in  silence,  Abelard  says,  and  at  length  told 
him  that  judgment  would  be  passed  on  it 
at  the  end  of  the  council. 

Meantime  Abelard  had  succeeded  in  cor- 
recting, to  some  extent,  the  inspired  pre- 
judice of  the  townsfolk.  Every  day  he  spoke 
and  disputed  in  the  streets  and  churches, 
before  the  council  sat,  and  he  tells  us  that 


'■ 


I 


he  seemed  to  make  an  impression  on  his 
hearers.  Alberic,  in  fact,  came  one  day 
with  a  number  of  his  pupils  for  the  purpose 
of  modifying  his  rival's  success ;  though  he 
hurriedly  retreated  when  it  was  shown  that 
his  specially  prepared  difficulty  had  no 
force.  Premising  ''a  few  polite  phrases," 
he  pointed  out  that  Abelard  had  denied  that 
God  generated  Himself  in  the  Trinity ;  for 
this  statement,  he  carefully  explained,  he 
did  not  ask  reasons,  but  an  authority.  Ab- 
elard promptly  turned  over  the  page,  and 
pointed  to  a  quotation  from  St.  Augustine. 
It  was  a  swift  and  complete  victory.  But 
Abelard  must  needs  improve  upon  it  by 
accusing  his  accuser  of  heresy,  and  Alberic 
departed  'Mike  one  demented  with  rage." 
Priests  and  people  were  now  openly  asking 
whether  the  council  had  discovered  the 
error  to  lie  with  itself  rather  than  with  Abe- 
lard. They  came  to  the  last  day  of  the 
council. 

Before  the  formal  opening  of  the  last  ses-. 
sion,  the  legate  invited  the  chief  actors  in 
the  comedy  (except  Abelard)  to  a  private 


176 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


177 


discussion  of  the  situation.  Conon's  po- 
sition and  attitude  were  purely  political. 
He  cared  little  about  their  dialectic  subtle- 
ties; was,  in  fact,  quite  incompetent  to 
decide  questions  of  personality,  modality, 
and  all  the  rest.  Still  it  was  mainly  a 
minor  political  situation  he  had  to  deal  with, 
and  he  shows  an  eagerness  to  get  through 
it  with  as  little  moral  damage  as  possible. 
Ralph  the  Green,  president  of  the  council, 
knew  no  more  than  Conon  about  theology  ; 
he  also  regarded  it  as  a  political  dilemma, 
and  the  prestige  of  his  school  would  gain 
by  the  extinction  of  Ab^lard.  Ralph  had 
nine  suffragan  bishops,  but  only  one  of 
these  is  proved  to  have  taken  part  in  the 
''conventicle."  It  was  Lisiard  de  Crespy, 
Bishop  of  Soissons,  who  would  support  his 
metropolitan.  Joscelin,  an  earlier  rival  of 
Abelard,  was  teaching  in  Soissons  at  that 
time,  and  would  most  probably  accompany 
his  bishop.  Abbot  Adam  of  St.  Denis  was 
present;  so  were  Alberic  and  Lotulphe. 
One  man  of  a  more  worthy  type  sat  with 
with  them,  an  awkward  and  embarrassing 


t 


spokesman  of  truth  and  justice,  Geoffrey, 
Bishop  of  Chartres,  one  of  the  most  influen- 
tial and  most  honourable  members  of  the 
French  episcopacy. 

Conon  at  once  shrewdly  introduced  the 
formal  question,  what  heresy  had  been 
discovered  in  Abelard's  book  ?  After  his 
ill-success  in  the  street  discussion,  Alberic 
seems  to  have  hesitated  to  quote  any  defin- 
ite passage  in  the  work.  Indeed,  we  have 
not  only  two  contradictory  charges  given, 
but  the  texts  which  seem  to  have  been  used 
in  this  council  to  prove  the  charge  of  tri- 
theism  were  quoted  at  the  Council  of  Sens 
in  1 141  in  proof  of  an  accusation  of  Sabel- 
lianism.  Otto  von  Freising  says  that  Abe- 
lard held  the  three  divine  persons  to  be 
modification  of  one  essence  (the  Anselmists 
claiming  that  the  three  were  realities)  ; 
Abelard  himself  says  he  was  accused  of  tri- 
theism.  Every  ''analogy"  that  has  been 
found  in  the  natural  world  for  the  dogma 
of  the  Trinity,  from  the  shamrock  of  St.  Pat- 
rick to  the  triangle  of  P6re  Lacordaire, 
exposes  its  discoverer  to  one  or  other  of 


xa 


178 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


179 


those  charges— for  an  obvious  reason.  Af- 
ter the  death  of  Dr.  Dale,  I  remember  seeing 
a  passage  quoted  by  one  of  his  panegyrists 
in  illustration  of  his  singularly  sound  and 
clear  presentation  of  dogma :  it  was  much 
more  Sabellian  than  anything  Abelard  ever 
wrote. 

However,  the  explicit  demand  of  the 
legate  for  a  specimen  of  Ab^lard's  heresy 
was  embarrassing.  Nothing  could  be  dis- 
covered in  the  book  to  which  Abelard  could 
not  have  assigned  a  parallel  in  the  fathers. 
And  when  Alberic  began  to  extort  heresy  by 
ingenious  interpretation,  Geoffroi  de  L^ves 
reminded  them  of  the  elementary  rules  of 
justice.  In  the  formal  proceedings  of  a 
trial  for  heresy  no  one  was  condemned 
unheard.  If  they  were  to  anticipate  the 
trial  by  an  informal  decision,  the  require- 
ment of  justice  was  equally  urgent.  They 
must  give  the  accused  an  opportunity  of 
defending  himself  That  was  the  one  course 
which  Alberic  dreaded  most  of  all,  and 
he  so  well  urged  the  magical  power  of 
Abelard's  tongue  that  the  bishop's  proposal 


^ 


was  rejected.  Geoffrey  then  complained  of 
the  smallness  of  the  council,  and  the  injust- 
ice of  leaving  so  grave  and  delicate  a  deci- 
sion to  a  few  prelates.  Let  Abelard  be  given 
into  the  care  of  his  abbot,  who  should  take 
him  back  to  St.  Denis  and  have  him  judged 
by  an  assembly  of  expert  theologians.  The 
legate  liked  the  idea.  The  Rheims  people 
regarded  it,  for  the  moment,  as  an  effective 
removal  of  Abelard  from  their  neighbour- 
hood. The  proposal  was  agreed  to,  and 
the  legate  then  proceeded  to  say  the  Mass 
of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Meantime  Archbishop  Ralph  informed 
Abelard  of  the  decision.  Unsatisfactory  as 
the  delay  was,  he  must  have  been  grateful 
for  an  escape  from  the  power  of  Rheims. 
He  turned  indifferently  from  the  further 
session  of  the  council.  Unfortunately  an- 
other conference  was  even  then  taking  place 
between  Alberic,  Ralph,  and  Conon ;  and 
Abelard  was  presently  summoned  to  bring 
his  book  before  the  council. 

Alberic  and  Lotulphe  were,  on  reflection, 
dissatisfied  with  the  result.    Their  influence 


'It 


1 80 


Peter  Abelard 


I ' 


would  have  no  weight  in  a  trial  at  Paris, 
and  their  ambition  required  the  sacrifice  of 
the  famous  master.  They  therefore  went 
to  the  archbishop  with  a  complaint  that 
people  would  take  it  to  be  a  confession  of 
incompetency  if  he  allowed  the  case  to  go 
before  another  court.  The  three  approached 
the  legate  again,  and  now  reminded  him 
that  Abelard's  work  was  published  without 
episcopal  permission,  and  could  justly  be 
condemned  on  that  ground.  As  ignorant 
of  canon  law  as  he  was  of  theology,  and 
seeing  the  apparent  friendlessness  of  Abe- 
lard, and  therefore  the  security  of  a  con- 
demnation, Conon  agreed  to  their  proposal. 
Abelard  had  long  looked  forward  to  the 
hour  of  his  appearance  before  the  council. 
It  was  to  be  an  hour  of  supreme  triumph. 
The  papal  legate  and  the  archbishop  in  their 
resplendent  robes  in  the  sanctuary  ;  the 
circle  of  bishops  and  abbots  and  canons ; 
the  crowd  of  priests,  theologians,  masters, 
and  clerics  ;  the  solemn  pulpit  of  the  cath- 
edral church,  from  which  he  should  make 
his  highest  effort  of  dialectics  and  oratory  ; 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


181 


the  scattered  rivals,  and  the  triumphant 
return  to  his  pupils.  He  had  rehearsed  it 
daily  for  a  month  or  more.  But  the  sad, 
heart-rending  reality  of  his  appearance  !  He 
was  brought  in,  condemned.  He  stood  in 
the  midst  of  the  thronged  cathedral,  with 
the  brand  of  heresy  on  his  brow,  he,  the 
intellectual  and  moral  master  of  them  all. 
A  fire  was  kindled  there  before  the  council. 
There  was  no  need  for  Geoffrey  of  Chartres 
to  come,  the  tears  coursing  down  his  cheeks, 
to  tell  him  his  book  was  judged  and  con- 
demned. Quietly,  but  with  a  fierce  accus- 
ation of  God  Himself  in  his  broken  heart, 
as  he  afterwards  said,  he  cast  his  treasured 
work  in  the  flames. 

Even  in  that  awful  moment  the  spirit  of 
comedy  must  needs  assert  its  mocking  pre- 
sence ;  or  is  it  only  part  of  the  tragedy  ? 
Whilst  the  yellow  parchment  crackled  in  the 
flames,  someone  who  stood  by  the  legate 
muttered  that  one  passage  in  it  said  that 
God  the  Father  alone  was  omnipotent. 
Soulless  politician  as  he  was,  the  ignorant 
legate  fastened  on  the  charge  as  a  confirma- 


l82 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


183 


tion  of  the  justice  of  the  sentence.  ' '  I  could 
scarcely  believe  that  even  a  child  would  fall 
into  such  an  error/'  said  the  brute,  with  an 
affectation  of  academic  dignity.  **And 
yet,"  a  sarcastic  voice  fell  on  his  ear,  quoting 
the  Athanasian  Creed,  '*and  yet  there  are 
not  Three  omnipotent,  but  One."  The  bold 
speaker  was  Tirric,  the  Breton  scholastic, 
who  as  we  have  seen,  probably  instructed 
Abelard  in  mathematics.  His  bishop  imme- 
diately began  to  censure  him  for  his  neat 
exhibition  of  the  legate's  ignorance,  but  the 
teacher  was  determined  to  express  his  dis- 
gust at  the  proceedings.  *'  You  have  con- 
demned a  child  of  Israel,"  he  cried,  lashing 
the  **  conventicle"  with  the  scornful  words 
of  Daniel,  '*  without  inquiry  or  certainty. 
Return  ye  to  the  judgment  seat,  and  judge 
the  judges." 

The  archbishop  then  stepped  forward  to 
put  an  end  to  the  confusion.  'Mt  is  well," 
he  said,  making  a  tardy  concession  to  con- 
science, *'that  the  brother  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  defending  his  faith  before  us  all." 
Abelard  gladly  prepared  to  do  so,  but  Alberic 


I 


and  Lotulphe  once  more  opposed  the  idea. 
No  further  discussion  was  needed,  they 
urged.  The  council  had  finished  its  work  ; 
Ab61ard's  errors  had  been  detected  and  cor- 
rected. If  it  were  advisable  to  have  a  pro- 
fession of  faith  from  Brother  Peter,  let  him 
recite  the  Athanasian  Creed.  And  lest  Abe- 
lard should  object  that  he  did  not  know  the 
Creed  by  heart,  they  produced  a  copy  of  it. 
The  politic  prelates  were  easily  induced  to 
take  their  view.  In  point  of  fact  the  arch- 
bishop's proposal  was  a  bare  compliance 
with  the  canons.  Abelard's  book  had  been 
condemned  on  the  ground  that  it  had  been 
issued  without  authorisation  ;  nothing  had 
been  determined  as  to  the  legitimacy  of  its 
contents.  The  canons  still  demanded  that 
he  should  be  heard  before  he  was  sent  out 
into  the  world  with  an  insidious  stigma  of 
heresy. 

But  charity  and  justice  had  no  part  in  that 
pitiful  conventicle.  Archbishop  and  legate 
thought  it  politic  to  follow  the  ruling  of  Al- 
beric to  the  end,  and  the  parchment  was 
handed  to  Abelard.    And  priest  and  prelate, 


1 84 


Peter  Ab^lard 


^ 


4 


monk  and  abbot,  shamelessly  stood  around, 
whilst  the  greatest  genius  of  the  age,  devoted 
to  religion  in  every  gift  of  his  soul,  as  each 
knew,  faltered  out  the  familiar  symbol. 
*'  Good  Jesus,  where  wert  Thou  ?  "  Ab^lard 
asks,  long  years  afterwards.  There  are 
i^^^    many  who  ask  it  to-day. 

So  ended  the  holy  Council  of  Soissons, 
Provincial  Synod  of  the  arch-diocese  of 
Rheims,  held  under  the  aegis  of  a  papal  le- 
gate, in  the  year  of  grace  1 121.  Its  acta  are 
not  found  in  Richard,  or  Labb6,  or  Hefele ; 
they  * '  have  not  been  preserved. "  There  is  an 
earlier  ecclesiastical  council  that  earned  the 
title  of  the  latrocinium  (''rogues  council "), 
and  we  must  not  plagiarise.  Ingenious  and 
audacious  as  the  apologetic  historian  is,  he 
has  not  attempted  to  defend  the  Council  of 
Soissons.  But  his  condemnation  of  it  is 
mildness  itself  compared  with  his  con- 
demnation of  Abelard. 

For  a  crowning  humiliation  Abelard  was 
consigned  by  the  council  to  a  large  monas- 
tery near  Soissons,  which  served  as  jail  or 
penitentiary  for  that  ecclesiastical  province. 


The  Trial  of  a  Heretic 


185 


I 


i 


The  abbot  of  this  monastery,  Geoffrey  of  the 
Stag's-neck,  had  assisted  at  the  council,  and 
Dom  Gervaise  would  have  it  that  he  had 
secured  Abelard  for  his  own  purposes.  He 
thinks  the  abbot  was  looking  to  the  great 
legal  advantage,  in  the  frequent  event  of  a 
lawsuit,  of  having  such  an  orator  as  Abelard 
in  his  monastery.  It  is  a  possibility,  like 
many  other  details  in  Gervaise 's  Life  ofAM- 
lard.  In  forbidding  his  return  either  to 
Maisoncelle  or  to  St.  Denis,  and  definitely 
consigning  him  to  the  abbey  of  St.  M^dard, 
the  council  was  once  more  treating  him  as  a 
legally  convicted  heretic.  As  far  as  it  was 
concerned,  it  was  filling  the  chalice  of  the 
poor  monk's  bitterness.  It  is  a  mere  accid- 
ent that  Geoffrey  was  a  man  of  some  cult- 
ure, and  was  so  far  influenced  by  the  hideous 
spectacle  he  had  witnessed  as  to  receive 
Brother  Peter  with  sympathy  and  some 
honour. 


Chapter  VIII 
Cloud  upon  Cloud 

yHE  abbey  of  St.  Medard,  to  which  Ab6- 
*  lard  accompanied  his  friendly  jailer, 
was  a  very  large  monastery  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  Aisne,  just  outside  of  Soissons. 
At  that  time  it  had  a  community  of  about 
four  hundred  monks.  It  derived  a  consid- 
erable revenue  from  its  two  hundred  and 
twenty  farms,  yet  it  bore  so  high  a  repute 
for  regular  discipline  that  it  had  become  a 
general  ''reformatory  school"  for  the  dis- 
trict. '*To  it  were  sent  the  ignorant  to  be 
instructed,  the  depraved  to  be  corrected,  the 
obstinate  to  be  tamed,"  says  a  work  of  the 
time ;  though  it  is  not  clear  how  Herr  Haus- 
rath  infers  from  this  that  the  abbey  also 
served  the  purpose  of  monastic  asylum. 
For  this  character  of  penitentiary  the  place 
was  chosen  for  the  confinement  of  Abelard. 

1 86 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


187 


1 


Thither  he  retired  to  meditate  on  the  joy 
and  the  wisdom  of  ''  conversion."  ''  God  ! 
How  furiously  did  1  accuse  Thee  !  "  he  says 
of  those  days.  The  earlier  wound  had  been 
preceded,  he  admits,  by  his  sin  ;  this  far 
deeper  and  more  painful  wound  had  been 
brought  upon  him  by  his  'Move  of  our 
faith." 

Whether  Abbot  Geoffrey  thought  Abelard 
an  acquisition  or  no,  there  was  one  man  in 
authority  at  St.  Medard  who  rejoiced  with  a 
holy  joy  at  his  advent.  This  was  no  other 
than  Ab^lard's  earlier  acquaintance,  St.  Gos- 
win.  The  zealous  student  had  become  a 
monastic  reformer,  and  had  recently  been 
appointed  Prior  ^  of  St.  Medard.  In  the  re- 
cently reformed  abbey,  with  a  daily  arrival 
of  "obstinate  monks  to  be  trained,"  and  a 
convenient  and  well-appointed  ascetical  ar- 
moury, or  whipping-room,  the  young  saint 
was  in  a  congenial  element.  Great  was  his 
interest   when  "Pope  Innocent,"^  as  his 

*  A  prior  is  the  second  in  command  in  an  abbey,  or  the  head  of  a 
priory  ;  a  priory  was  a  small  branch  monastery,  in  those  days,  though 
it  may  now,  as  with  the  Dominicans,  be  a  chief  house. 

•  This  is  enoneous  ;  Calixtus  11.  filled  the  papal  chair  at  the  time. 


1 88 


Peter  Abdlard 


biographers  say,  '*  sent  Ab^lard  to  be  con- 
fined in  the  abbey,  and,  like  an  untamed 
rhinoceros,  to  be  caught  in  the  bonds  of  dis- 
cipline." Ab^lard  was  not  long  in  the  abbey 
before  the  tamer  approached  this  special  task 
that  Providence    had  set  him.     We  can 
imagine  Abelard's  feelings  when  the  obtuse 
monk  took  him  aside,  and  exhorted  him 
*'not  to  think  it  a  misfortune  or  an  injury 
that  he  had  been  sent  there  ;  he  was  not  so 
much  confined  in  a  prison,  as  protected  from 
the  storms  of  the  world."    He  had  only  to 
live  piously  and  set  a  good  example,  and  all 
would  be  well.    Ab61ard  was  in  no  mood  to 
see  the  humour  of  the  situation.    He  peev- 
ishly retorted  that  ''there  were  a  good  many 
who  talked  about  piety  and  did  not  know 
what  piety  was."    Then  the  prior,  say  his 
biographers,  saw  that  it  was  not  a  case  for 
leniency,  but  for  drastic  measures.     ''Quite 
true,"  he  replied,  "there  are  many  who  talk 
about  piety,  and  do  not  know  what  it  is. 
But  if  we  find  you  saying  or  doing  anything 
that  is  not  pious,  we  shall  show  you  that 
we  know  how  to  treat  its  contrary,  at  all 


V 


\ 


1 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


189 


events."  The  saint  prevailed  once  more— 
in  the  biography:  "the  rhinoceros  was 
cowed,  and  became  very  quiet,  more  patient 
under  discipline,  more  fearful  of  the  lash, 
and  of  a  saner  and  less  raving  mind." 

Fortunately,  the  boorish  saint  had  a  cult- 
ured abbot,  one  at  least  who  did  not  hold 
genius  to  be  a  diabolical  gift,  and  whose 
judgment  of  character  was  not  wholly  viti- 
ated by  the  crude  mystic  and  monastic  ideal 
of  the  good  people  of  the  period.  The  abbot 
seems  to  have  saved  Abelard  from  the  zeal 
of  the  prior ;  and  possibly  he  found  compan- 
ionable souls  amongst  the  four  hundred 
monks  of  the  great  abbey,  some  of  whom 
were  nobles  by  birth.  We  know,  at  all 
events,  that  in  the  later  period  he  looked 
back  on  the  few  months  spent  at  St.  Medard 
with  a  kindly  feeling. 

His  imprisonment  did  not  last  long. 
When  the  proceedings  of  the  council  were 
made  known  throughout  the  kingdom, 
there  was  a  strong  outburst  of  indignation. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  Council 
of  Soissons  illustrates  or  embodies  the  spirit 


iff 

I 


190 


Peter  Abelard 


I 


of  the  period  or  the  spirit  of  the  Church ; 
this  feature  we  shall  more  nearly  find  in  the 
Council  of  Sens,  in  1141.  The  conventicle 
had,  in  truth,  revealed  some  of  the  evils  of 
the  time :  the  danger  of  the  Church's  exces- 
sively political  attitude  and  administration, 
the  brutality  of  the  spirit  it  engendered 
v^ith  regard  to  heresy,  the  fatal  predom- 
inence  of  dogma  over  ethic.  But,  in  the 
main,  the  conventicle  exhibits  the  hideous 
triumph  of  a  few  perverse  individuals,  who 
availed  themselves  of  all  that  was  crude  and 
ill-advised  in  the  machinery  of  the  Church. 
When,  therefore,  such  men  as  Tirric,  and 
Geoffrey  of  Chartres,  and  Geoffrey  of  the 
Stag's-neck,  spread  their  story  abroad,  there 
were  few  who  did  not  sympathise  with  Abe- 
lard. The  persecutors  soon  found  it  neces- 
sary to  defend  themselves ;  there  was  a 
chaos  of  mutual  incriminations.  Even  Al- 
beric  and  Lotulphe  tried  to  cast  the  blame 
on  others.  The  legate  found  it  expedient 
to  attribute  the  whole  proceedings  openly 
to  ''  French  malice."  He  had  been  ''  com- 
pelled for  a  time  to  humour  their  spleen,"  as 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


191 


Abelard  puts  it,  but  he  presently  revoked 
the  order  of  confinement  in  St.  Medard,  and 
gave  Abelard  permission  to  return  to  St. 
Denis. 

It  was  a  question  of  Scylla  or  Charybdis, 
of  Prior  Goswin  or  Abbot  Adam.  The  legate 
seems  to  have  acted  in  good  faith  in  grant- 
ing the  permission— perhaps  we  should  say 
in  good  policy,  for  he  again  acted  out  of  dis- 
creet regard  for  circumstances  ;  but  when 
we  find  Abelard  availing  himself  of  what 
was  no  more  than  a  permission  to  return  to 
St.  Denis  we  have  a  sufficient  indication  of 
the  quality  of  his  experience  at  St.  M6dard. 
He  does,  indeed,  remark  that  the  monks  of 
the  reformed  abbey  had  been  friendly  to- 
wards him,  though  this  is  inspired  by  an 
obvious  comparison  with  his  later  experience 
at  St.  Denis.  But  St.  Medard  was  a  prison; 
that  sufficed  to  turn  the  scale.  A  removal 
from  the  penitentiary  would  be  equivalent, 
in  the  eyes  of  France,  to  a  revocation  of  the 
censure  passed  on  him.  So  with  a  heart 
that  was  hopelessly  drear,  not  knowing 
whether  to  smile  or  weep,  he  went  back. 


I 


# 


192 


Peter  Abelard 


poor  sport  of  the  gods  as  he  was,  to  the 
royal  abbey. 

For  a  few  months  Brother  Peter  struggled 
bravely  with  the  hard  task  the  fates  had  set 
him.  He  was  probably  wise  enough  to  re- 
frain from  inveighing,  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  against  the  **  intolerable  unclean- 
ness  "  of  Adam  and  his  monks.  Possibly  he 
nursed  a  hope— or  was  nursed  by  a  hope — 
of  having  another  ''cell"  entrusted  to  his 
charge.  In  spite  of  the  irregularity  of  the 
abbey,  formal  religious  exercises  were  ex- 
tensively practised.  All  day  and  night  the 
chant  of  the  breviary  was  heard  in  the 
monastic  chapel.  There  was  also  a  large 
and  busy  scriptorium ;  the  archivium  of  the 
ancient  abbey  was  a  treasury  of  interesting 
old  documents ;  and  there  was  a  relatively 
good  library.  It  was  in  the  latter  that 
Brother  Peter  found  his  next  adventure,  and 
one  that  threatened  to  be  the  most  serious 
of  all. 

Seeing  the  present  futility  of  his  theologi- 
cal plans,  he  had  turned  to  the  study  of 
history.      There  was   a   copy   of   Bede's 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


193 


I 


History  of  the  Apostles  in  the  library,  and  he 
says  that  he  one  day,  ''by  chance,''  came 
upon  the  passage  in  which  Bede  deals  with 
St.  Denis.  The  Anglo-Saxon  historian  would 
not  admit  the  French  tradition  about  St. 
Denis.  He  granted  the  existence  of  a  St. 
Denis,  but  said  that  he  had  been  Bishop  of 
Corinth,  not  of  Athens.  The  legend  about 
the  martyrdom  of  Denis  the  Areopagite, 
with  his  companions  Rusticus  and  Eleuthe- 
rius,  at  Paris  in  the  first  century,  is  now  al- 

if 

most  universally  rejected  by  Roman  Catholic 
historians,  not  to  mention  others.  It  is, 
however,  still  enshrined  with  honour  in 
that  interesting  compendium  of  myths  of 
the  Christian  era,  the  Roman  breviary,  and 
is  read  with  religious  solemnity  by  every 
priest  and  every  monastic  choir  in  the  Cath- 
olic world  on  the  annual  festival. 

However,  the  abbey  of  St.  Denis,  the 
monastery  that  owed  all  its  wealth  and  re- 
pute to  its  possession  of  the  bones  of  "  the 
Areopagite,"  was  the  last  place  in  the  world 
in  which  to  commence  a  rationalistic  attack 
on  the  legend.    With  his  usual  want  of  tact 


194 


Peter  Abelard 


1!' 


$' 


and  foresight  Brother  Peter  showed  the  pas- 
sage in  Bede  to  some  of  his  fellow-monks, 
*'  in  joke/'  he  says  ;  he  might  as  well  have 
cut  the  abbot's  throat,  or  destroyed  the 
wine-cellar  ''  in  joke."  There  was  a  violent 
commotion.  Heresy  about  the  Trinity  was 
bad,  but  heresy  about  the  idol  of  the  royal 
abbey  was  more  touching.  It  is  not  quite 
clear  that  Abelard  came  to  the  opinion  of 
modern  religious  historians,  that  the  St. 
Denis  of  Paris  was  a  much  later  personage 
than  the  Areopagite  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles, but  he  seems  to  hold  that  opinion.  In 
any  case,  the  monks  felt  that  to  be  the  sub- 
stance of  his  discovery,  and  held  it  to  be  an 
attack  on  the  glory  of  the  abbey.  Vener- 
able Bede  was,  they  bluntly  replied,  a  liar. 
One  of  their  former  abbots,  Hilduin,  had 
made  a  journey  to  Greece  for  the  special 
purpose  of  verifying  the  story. 

When  the  monks  flew  to  Abbot  Adam 
with  the  story  of  Brother  Peter's  latest  out- 
break, Adam  saw  in  it  an  opportunity  of  ter- 
rifying the  rebel  into  submission,  if  not 
of  effectually  silencing  him.     He  called  a 


n 

' 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


195 


chapter  of  the  brethren.    One's  pen  almost 
tires  of  describing  the  cruel  scenes  to  which 
those  harsh  days  lent  themselves.     The 
vindictive  abbot  perched  on  his  high  chair, 
prior  and  elder  brethren  sitting  beside  him  ; 
the  hundreds  of  black-robed,  shaven  monks 
lining  the  room  ;  on  his  knees  in  the  centre 
the  pale,  nervous  figure  of  the  Socrates  of 
Gaul.  With  a  mock  solemnity.  Abbot  Adam 
delivers  himself  of  the  sentence.     Brother 
Peter  has  crowned  his  misdeeds,  in  his  pride 
of  mind,  with  an  attack,  not  merely  on  the 
abbey  that  sheltered  him,  but  on  the  honour 
and  the  safety  of  France.    The  matter  is  too 
serious  to  be  punished  by  even  the  most 
severe  methods  at  the  command  of  the  ab- 
bey.   Brother  Peter  is  to  be  handed  over  to 
the  King,  as  a  traitor  to  the  honour  of  the 
country.    The  poor  monk,  now  thoroughly 
alarmed,  abjectly  implores  the  abbot  to  deal 
with  him  in  the  usual  way.     Let  him  be 
scourged— anything  to  escape  the  uncertain 
temper  of  King  Louis.    No,  the  abbey  must 
be  rid  of  him.    He  is  taken  away  into  con- 
finement, with  an  injunction  that  he  be 


196 


Peter  Ab61ard 


carefully  watched  until  it  is  convenient  to 
send  him  to  Paris. 

There  were,  however,  some  of  the  monks 
who  were  disgusted  at  the  savage  proceed- 
ing. A  few  days  afterwards  he  was  assisted 
to  escape  from  the  monastic  dungeon  during 
the  night,  and,  ''in  utter  despair,''  he  fled 
from  the  abbey,  with  a  few  of  his  former 
pupils.  It  was,  in  truth,  a  desperate  move. 
As  a  deserter  from  the  abbey,  the  canons 
required  that  two  stalwart  brothers  should 
be  sent  in  pursuit  of  him,  and  that  he  be  re- 
imprisoned.  As  a  fugitive  from  the  King's 
justice,  to  which  he  had  been  publicly  de- 
stined, he  was  exposed  to  even  harsher  treat- 
ment. However,  he  made  his  way  into 
Champagne  once  more,  and  threw  himself 
on  the  mercy  of  his  friends. 

One  of  the  friends  whom  he  had  attached 
to  himself  during  his  stay  at  Maisoncelle  was 
Prior  of  St.  Ayoul,  near  the  gates  of  Provins. 
It  was  a  priory  belonging  to  the  monks  of 
Troyes,  and  both  Hatton,  Bishop  of  Troyes, 
and  Theobald,  Count  of  Champagne,  were 
in  sympathy  with  the  fugitive.    The  prior, 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


197 


therefore,  received  Ab^lard  into  his  convent, 
to  afford  at  least  time  for  reflection.  His 
condition,  however,  was  wholly  uncanonical 
and  the  prior,  as  well  as  the  Abbot  of  St. 
Peter  of  Troyes,  urged  him  to  secure  some 
regularity  for  his  absence  from  St.  Denis,  so 
that  they  might  lawfully  shelter  him  at  St. 
Ayoul.  Ab^lard  summoned  what  diplomatic 
faculty  he  had,  and  wrote  to  St.  Denis. 

''Peter,  monk  by  profession  and  sinner 
by  his  deeds,  to  his  dearly  beloved  father, 
Adam,  and  to  his  most  dear  brethren  and 
fellow-monks,"  was  the  inscription  of  the 
epistle.  Brother  Peter,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered, was  fighting  almost  for  life  ;  and  he 
was  not  of  the  heroic  stuff  of  his  friend  and 
pupil,  Arnold  of  Brescia.  There  are  critics 
who  think  he  descended  lower  than  this 
concession  to  might,  that  he  deliberately 
denied  his  conviction  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
ciliating Adam.  Others,  such  as  Poole, 
Deutsch,  and  Hausrath,  think  the  letter  does 
not  support  so  grave  a  censure.  The  point 
of  the  letter  is  certainly  to  convey  the  im- 
pression   that  Bade   had   erred,  and  that 


198 


Peter  Ab^lard 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


199 


Abelard  had  no  wish  to  urge  his  authority 
against  the  belief  of  the  monks,  hi  point  of 
fact,  Bede  is  at  variance  with  Eusebius  and 
Jerome,  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  Abelard 
came  sincerely  to  modify  the  first  impression 
he  had  received  from  Bede's  words  ;  in  the 
circumstances,  and  in  the  then  state  of  the 
question,  this  would  not  be  unreasonable. 
At  the  same  time,  a  careful  perusal  of  the 
letter  gives  one  the  impression  that  it  is 
artistic  and  diplomatic ;  that  Abelard  has 
learned  tact,  rather  than  unlearned  history. 
It  reads  like  an  effort  to  say  something  con- 
ciliatory about  St.  Denis,  without  doing 
serious  violence  to  the  writer's  conscience. 
Perhaps  the  Abbot  of  St.  Peter's  could  have 
thrown  some  light  on  its  composition. 

Shortly  afterwards  Abbot  Adam  came  to 
visit  Count  Theobald,  and  Abelard's  friends 
made  a  direct  effort  to  conciliate  him.  The 
Prior  of  St.  Ayoul  and  Abelard  hurried  to 
the  count's  castle,  and  begged  him  to  pre- 
vail upon  his  guest  to  release  Abelard  from 
his  obedience.  The  count  tried  to  persuade 
Adam  to  do  so,  but  without  success.   Adam 


i 


seemed  determined,  not  so  much  to  rid  his 
happy  convent  of  a  malcontent,  as  to  crush 
Abelard.  He  found  plenty  of  pious  garbs  with 
which  to  cover  his  vindictiveness.  At  first 
he  deprecated  the  idea  that  it  was  a  matter 
for  his  personal  decision.  Then,  after  a 
consultation  with  the  monks  who  accom- 
panied him,  he  gravely  declared  that  it  was 
inconsistent  with  the  honour  of  the  abbey  to 
release  Abelard;  "the  brethren  had  said 
that,  whereas  Abelard's  choice  of  their 
abbey  had  greatly  redounded  to  its  glory, 
his  flight  from  it  had  covered  them  with 
shame."  He  threatened  both  Abelard  and 
the  Prior  of  St.  Ayoul  with  the  usual  can- 
onical penalties,  unless  the  deserter  returned 
forthwith  to  obedience. 

Adam's  departure,  after  this  fulmination, 
left  Abelard  and  his  friends  sadly  perplexed. 
The  abbot  had  the  full  force  of  canon  law 
on  his  side,  and  he  was  evidently  determined 
to  exact  his  pound  of  flesh.  However, 
whilst  they  were  busy  framing  desperate 
resolves,  they  received  information  of  the 
sudden  death  of  Abbot  Adam.    He  died 


I 


200 


Peter  Abelard 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


20I 


m\ 


a  few  days  after  leaving  Champagne,  on  the 
19th  of  February,  1 122.  The  event  brought 
relief  from  the  immediate  pressure.  Some 
time  would  elapse  before  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  resume  the  matter  with  Adam's 
successor,  and  there  was  room  for  hope 
that  the  new  abbot  would  not  feel  the 
same  personal  vindictiveness. 

The  monk  who  was  chosen  by  the  Bene- 
dictines of  St.  Denis  to  succeed  Adam  was 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  characters  of 
that  curious  age.  Scholar,  soldier,  and  poli- 
tician, he  had  an  enormous  influence  on  the 
life  of  France  during  the  early  decades  of 
the  twelfth  century.  Nature  intended  him 
for  a  minister  and  a  great  soldier ;  chance 
made  him  a  monk  ;  worldly  brothers  made 
him  an  abbot,  and  St.  Bernard  completed 
the  anomaly  by  ''  converting  "  him  in  1 127. 
At  the  time  we  are  speaking  of  he  was  the 
more  active  and  prominent  of  two  men 
whom  Bernard  called  ''the  two  calamities 
of  the  Church  of  France." 

He  was  born  of  poor  parents,  near  one 
of  the  priories  or  dependencies  of  St.  Denis. 


His  talent  was  noticed  by  the  monks,  and 
his  '^vocation"  followed  as  a  matter  of 
course.  He  was  studying  in  the  monastic 
school  when  King  Philip  brought  his  son 
Louis  to  St.  Denis,  and  the  abbot  sent  for 
him,  and  made  him  companion  to  the  royal 
pupil.  He  thus  obtained  a  strong  influence 
over  the  less-gifted  prince,  and  when  Louis 
came  to  the  throne  in  1108,  Suger  became 
the  first  royal  councillor.  Being  only  a 
deacon  in  orders,  there  was  nothing  to 
prevent  his  heading  the  troops,  directing  a 
campaign,  or  giving  his  whole  time  to  the 
affairs  of  the  kingdom.  He  had  proved  so 
useful  a  minister  that,  when  some  of  the 
monks  of  St.  Denis  came  in  great  trepida- 
tion to  tell  the  King  they  had  chosen  him 
for  abbot,  they  were  angrily  thrust  into 
prison.  Suger  himself  was  in  Rome  at  the 
time,  discharging  a  mission  from  the  King, 
and  he  tells  us,  in  his  autobiography,  of 
the  perplexity  the  dilemma  caused  him. 
However,  before  he  reached  France,  the 
King  had  concluded  that  an  abbot  could  be 
as  useful  as  a  prior  in  an  accommodating 


fl 


202 


Peter  Ab61ard 


h 


t 


age.  In  the  sequel  St.  Denis  became  more 
royal,  and  less  abbatial,  than  ever  — until 
1 127.  St.  Bernard  complained  that  it 
seemed  to  have  become  the  '*  w^ar  office  " 
and  the  ''ministry  of  justice ''  of  the  king- 
dom. 

Ab^lard  now  seems  to  have  been  taken 
in  hand  by  a  more  astute  admirer,  Burchard, 
Bishop  of  Meaux.  They  went  to  Paris 
together,  and  apparently  did  a  little  success- 
ful diplomacy  before  the  arrival  and  con- 
secration of  Suger.  The  newly  created 
abbot  (he  had  been  ordained  priest  the  day 
before  his  consecration)  refused  to  undo 
the  sentence  of  his  predecessor.  He  was 
bound  by  the  decision  of  the  abbey,  he 
said  ;  in  other  words,  there  was  still  a  strong 
vindictive  feeling  against  Abelard  in  the 
abbey,  which  it  was  not  politic  to  ignore. 
It  is  quite  impossible  that  Suger  himself 
took  the  matter  seriously. 

But  before  Suger's  arrival  Abelard  and 
his  companions  had  made  friends  at  Court. 
Whether  through  his  pupils,  many  of  whom 
were  nobles,  or  through  his  family,  is  un- 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


203 


known,  but  Abelard  for  the  second  time 
found  influence  at  Court  when  ecclesiastical 
favour  was  denied.  One  of  the  leading 
councillors  was  Etienne  de  Garlande,  the 
royal  seneschal,  and  means  were  found  to 
interest  him  in  the  case  of  the  unfortunate 
monk.  We  have  already  seen  that  Stephen 
had  ecclesiastical  ambition  in  his  earlier 
years,  and  had  become  a  deacon  and  a 
canon  of  Etampes.  But  when  his  patron, 
King  Philip,  submitted  to  the  Church  and 
to  a  better  ideal  of  life,  Stephen  concluded 
that  the  path  to  ecclesiastical  dignities 
would  be  less  smooth  and  easy  for  the  ''  il- 
literate and  unchaste,"  and  he  turned  to 
secular  ambition.  At  the  time  of  the  events 
we  are  reviewing  he  and  Suger  were  the 
virtual  rulers  of  France  ;  from  the  ecclesias- 
tical point  of  view  he  was  the  man  whom 
St.  Bernard  associated  with  Suger  as ''a 
calamity  of  the  Church." 

**  Through  the  mediation  of  certain  friends  " 
Abelard  had  enlisted  the  interest  of  this 
powerful  personage,  and  the  Court  was 
soon  known  to  favour  his  suit.    There  are 


204 


Peter  Abdlard 


.1 


H 


i) 


many  speculations  as  to  the  motive  of  the 
King  and  his  councillors  in  intervening  in 
the  monastic  quarrel.  Recent  German  his- 
torians see  in  the  incident  an  illustration 
of  a  profound  policy  on  the  part  of  the 
royal  council.  They  think  the  King  was 
then  endeavouring  to  strengthen  his  author- 
ity by  patronising  the  common  people  in 
opposition  to  the  tyrannical  and  trouble- 
some nobility.  Following  out  a  parallel 
policy  with  regard  to  the  Church,  whose 
nobles  were  equally  tyrannical  and  trouble- 
some, Stephen  and  Suger  would  naturally 
befriend  the  lower  clergy  in  opposition  to 
the  prelates.  Hence  the  royal  intervention 
on  behalf  of  the  monk  of  St.  Denis  is  asso- 
ciated with  the  intervention  on  the  side  of 
the  peasantry  a  few  years  before. 

The  theory  is  ingenious,  but  hardly  ne- 
cessary. Ab^lard  says  that  the  Court  inter- 
fered because  it  did  not  desire  any  change 
in  the  free  life  of  the  royal  abbey,  and 
consequently  preferred  to  keep  him  out  of 
it.  That  is  also  ingenious,  and  compliment- 
ary to  Abelard.    But  it  is  not  a  little  doubt- 


Cloud  upon  Cloud 


205 


ful  whether  anybody  credited  him  with  the 
smallest  influence  at  St.  Denis.  We  shall 
probably  not  be  far  from  the  truth  if  we 
suppose  a  Court  intrigue  on  the  monk's 
behalf  which  his  friends  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  communicate  fully  to  him. 
Geoffrey  of  Chartres  and  other  friends  of 
his  were  French  nobles.  Many  of  his  pu- 
pils had  that  golden  key  which  would  at 
any  time  give  access  to  Etienne  de  Gar- 
lande. 

In  any  case  Stephen  and  Suger  had  a 
private  discussion  of  the  matter,  and  the 
two  politicians  soon  found  a  way  out  of 
the  difficulty.  Abelard  received  an  order 
to  appear  before  the  King  and  his  council. 
The  comedy — though  it  was  no  comedy 
for  Abelard— probably  took  place  at  St. 
Denis.  Louis  the  Fat  presided,  in  robes  of 
solemn  purple,  with  ermine  border.  Eti- 
enne de  Garlande  and  the  other  councillors 
glittered  at  his  side.  Abbot  Suger  and  his 
council  were  there  to  defend  the  ''honour " 
of  the  abbey,  and  Brother  Peter,  worn  with 
anxiety  and  suffering,  came  to  make  a  plea 


206 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


for  liberty.  Louis  bids  the  abbot  declare 
what  solution  of  the  difficulty  his  chapter 
has  discovered.  Suger  gravely  explains 
that  the  honour  of  their  abbey  does  not 
permit  them  to  allow  the  fugitive  monk  to 
join  any  other  monastery.  So  much  to 
save  the  face  of  the  abbey.  Yet  there  is  a 
middle  course  possible,  the  abbot  graciously 
continues  :  Brother  Peter  may  be  permitted 
to  live  a  regular  life  in  the  character  of  a 
hermit.  Brother  Peter  expresses  his  satis- 
faction at  the  decision — it  was  precisely 
the  arrangement  he  desired— and  departs 
from  the  abbey  with  his  friends,  a  free  man 
once  more,  never  again,  he  thinks,  to  fall 
into  the  power  of  monk  or  prelate. 


Chapter  IX 
Back  to  Champagne 

THE  scene  of  the  next  act  in  Abelard's 
dramatic  career  is  a  bright,  restful  val- 
ley in  the  heart  of  Champagne.  It  is  the 
summer  of  1122,  and  the  limpid  Arduzon 
rolls  through  enchantingly  in  its  course 
towards  the  Seine.  In  the  meadow  beside 
it  are  two  huts  and  a  small  oratory,  rudely 
fashioned  from  the  branches  of  trees  and 
reeds  from  the  river,  and  daubed  over  with 
mud.  No  other  sign  of  human  presence 
can  be  seen.  Abelard  and  one  companion 
are  the  only  human  beings  to  be  found  for 
miles.  And  even  all  thought  of  the  cities 
of  men  and  the  sordid  passions  they  shelter 
is  arrested  by  the  great  forests  of  oak  and 
beech  which  hem  in  the  narrow  horizon 
and  guard  the  restfulness  of  the  valley. 

By  the  terms  of  Suger's  decision  Abelard 

207 


208 


Peter  Abdlard 


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209 


h 


could  neither  lodge  with  secular  friends  nor 
enter  any  cell,  priory,  or  abbey.  Probably 
this  coercion  into  leading  an  eremitical  life 
was  unnecessary.  The  experience  of  the 
last  three  years  had  made  a  hermitage  of 
his  heart ;  nothing  would  be  more  welcome 
to  him  than  this  quiet  valley.  It  was  a 
spot  he  had  noticed  in  earlier  years.  In  his 
ancient  chronicle  Robert  of  Auxerre  says 
that  Abelard  had  lived  there  before  ;  Mr. 
Poole  thinks  it  was  to  the  same  part  of 
Champagne  that  he  resorted  on  the  three 
occasions  of  his  going  to  the  province  of 
Count  Theobald.  That  would  at  least  have 
to  be  understood  in  a  very  loose  sense.  On 
the  two  former  occasions  he  had  found  a 
home  prepared,  a  cell  and  a  priory,  respect- 
ively ;  he  had  now  to  build  a  hut  with  his 
own  hands.  It  was  a  deserted  spot  he  had 
chosen,  he  tells  us ;  and  Heloise  adds,  in 
one  of  her  letters,  that  before  Ab^lard's 
coming  it  had  been  the  haunt  of  robbers 
and  the  home  of  foxes  and  wild  boars,  like 
the  neighbouring  forest  of  Fontainebleau. 
Abelard  must  have  seen  this  quiet  side- 


valley  in  passing  along  the  Seine  on  the 
road  to  Paris.  It  was  some  twelve  miles 
from  Troyes,  where  he  had  a  number  of 
friends  ;  and  when  he  expressed  a  desire  to 
retire  to  it  with  his  companion,  they  ob- 
tained for  him  the  gift  of  the  meadow 
through  which  the  Arduzon  ran.  Bishop 
Hatton  gave  them  permission  to  build  an 
oratory,  and  they  put  together  a  kind  of 
mud  hut— ''  in  honour  of  the  Blessed  Trin- 
ity "  !  Here  the  heavy  heart  began  once 
more  to  dream  of  peace.  Men  had  tortured 
him  with  a  caricature  of  the  divine  justice 
when  his  aim  and  purpose  had  been  of  the 
purest.  He  had  left  their  ignorant  meddle- 
someness and  their  ugly  passions  far  away 
beyond  the  forests.  Alone  with  God  and 
with  nature  in  her  fairest  mood,  he  seemed 
to  have  escaped  securely  from  an  age  that 
could  not,  or  would  not,  understand  his 
high  ideal. 

So  for  some  time  no  sound  was  heard  in 
the  valley  but  the  song  of  the  birds  and  the 
grave  talk  of  the  two  hermits  and  the  fre- 
quent chant    in  the   frail  temple  of  the 


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Peter  Ab^lard 


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211 


Trinity.  But  Abelard's  evil  genius  was  never 
far  from  him  ;  it  almost  seems  as  if  it  only 
retired  just  frequently  enough  to  let  his 
heart  regain  its  full  power  of  suffering. 
The  unpractical  scholar  had  overlooked  a 
material  point,  the  question  of  sustenance. 
Beech-nuts  and  beech-leaves  and  roots  and 
the  water  of  the  river  become  monotonous. 
Abelard  began  to  cast  about  for  some  source 
of  revenue.  *'To  dig  I  was  not  able,  to 
beg  1  was  ashamed,"  he  says,  in  the  familiar 
words.  There  was  only  one  thing  he  could 
do  —  teach. 

Probably  he  began  by  giving  quiet  lessons 
to  the  sons  of  his  neighbours.  He  had  only 
to  let  his  intention  be  known  in  Troyes, 
and  he  would  have  as  many  pupils  as  he 
desired.  But  he  soon  found  that,  as  was 
inevitable,  he  had  released  a  torrent.  The 
words  in  which  he  describes  this  third  con- 
fluence of  his  streams  of  ''  barbarians  "  do 
not  give  us  the  impression  that  he  struggled 
against  his  fate.  With  all  his  genius  he  re- 
mained a  Breton  — short  of  memory  and 
light  of  heart.    The  gladdening  climate  of 


mid-France  and  the  brightness  and  beauty 
of  the  valley  of  the  Seine  quickened  his  old 
hopes  and  powers.  The  word  ran  through 
the  kingdoms  of  Gaul,  and  across  the  sea 
and  over  the  southern  hills,  that  Abelard 
was  lecturing  once  more.  And  many  hun- 
dreds,.jKQbably  thousands,  of  youths  gath- 
ered their  scant  treasures,  and  turned  their 
.faces  towards  the  distant  solitude  of  Nogent- 
sur-Seine. 

Then  was  witnessed  a  scene  that  is  quite 
unique  in  the  annals  of  education.  Many 
centuries  before,  the  deserts  of  Egypt  had 
seen  a  vast  crowd  of  men  pour  out  from 
the  cities,  and  rush  eagerly  into  their  thank- 
less solitude.  That  was  under  the  fresh- 
born  influence  of  a  new  religious  story,  the 
only  force  thought  competent  to  inspire  so 
great  an  abdication.  The  twelfth  century 
saw  another  great  stream  of  men  pouring 
eagerly  into  a  solitude  where  there  was  no 
luxury  but  the  rude  beauty  of  nature. 
Week  by  week  the  paths  that  led  into  the 
valley  by  the  Arduzon  discharged  their  hun- 
dreds of  pilgrims.     The  rough  justice  of 


I 


212 


Peter  Abelard 


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213 


nature  offered  no  advantage  to  wealth.  Rich 
and  poor,  noble  and  peasant,  young  and 
old,  they  raised  their  mud-cabins  or  their 
moss-covered  earth-works,  each  with  his 
own  hand.  Hundreds  of  these  rude  dwell- 
ings dotted  the  meadow  and  sheltered  in 
the  wood.  A  bundle  of  straw  was  the 
only  bed  to  be  found  in  them.  Their  tables 
were  primitive  mounds  of  fresh  turf;  the 
only  food  a  kind  of  coarse  peasant-bread, 
with  roots  and  herbs  and  a  draught  of  sweet 
water  from  the  river.  The  meats  and  wines 
and  pretty  maids  and  soft  beds  of  the  cities 
were  left  far  away  over  the  hills.  For  the 
great  magician  had  extended  his  wand  once 
more,  and  the  fascination  of  his  lectures 
was  as  irresistible  as  ever. 

They  had  built  a  new  oratory,  in  wood  and 
stone,  for  the  loved  master ;  and  each  morn- 
ing, as  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun  fell  upon  the 
strangely  scarred  face  of  the  valley,  they 
arose  from  the  hay  and  straw,  splashed  or 
dipped  in  the  running  river,  and  trooped  to 
the  spot  where  Abelard  fished  for  their  souls 
with  the  charming  bait  of  his  philosophy. 


Then  when  the  master  tired  of  reading 
Scripture,  and  of  his  pathetic  task  of  finding 
analogies  of  the  infinite  in  the  finite,  they 
relaxed  to  such  games  and  merriment  as 
youth  never  leaves  behind. 

Discipline,  however,  was  strict.  There  is 
a  song,  composed  at  the  time  by  one  of  the 
pupils,  which  affords  an  instructive  glimpse 
of  the  life  of  the  strange  colony.  Someone 
seems  to  have  informed  Abelard  of  a  group 
of  students  who  were  addicted  to  the 
familiar  vice.  He  at  once  banished  them 
from  the  colony,  threatening  to  abandon 
the  lectures  unless  they  retired  to  Quincey. 
The  poet  of  the  group  was  an  English 
youth,  named  Hilary,  who  had  come  to 
France  a  little  before.  Amongst  his  Versus 
et  ludi,  edited  by  Champollion,  we  find  his 
poetic  complaint  of  the  falseness  of  the 
charge  and  the  cruelty  of  their  expulsion. 
It  is  a  simple,  vigorous,  rhymed  verse  in 
Latin,  with  a  French  refrain.  It  is  obvi- 
ously intended  to  be  sung  in  chorus,  and  it 
thus  indirectly  illustrates  one  of  the  pro- 
bable recreations  of  the  youths  who  were 


214 


Peter  Abelard 


here  thrown  upon  their  own  resources. 
Many  another  of  Hilary's  rough  songs  must 
have  rung  through  the  valley  at  nightfall. 
Perhaps  Abelard  recovered  his  old  gift,  and 
contributed  to  the  harmless  gaiety  of  the 
colony.  Seared  and  scarred  as  he  was, 
there  was  nothing  sombre  or  sour  about  his 
piety,  save  in  the  moments  of  actual  perse- 
cution. With  all  his  keen  and  living  faith 
and  his  sense  of  remorse,  he  remains  a 
Breton,  a  child  of  the  sunlight,  sensitive  to 
the  gladdening  force  of  the  world.  Not 
until  his  last  year  did  he  accept  the  ascetic 
view  of  pleasures  which  were  non-ethical. 
Watchful  over  the  faith  and  morals  of  the 
colony,  he  would  make  no  effort  to  mode- 
rate the  loud  song  with  which  they  re- 
sponded to  the  warm  breath  of  nature. 

The  happiness  of  his  little  world  surged 
in  the  heart  of  the  master  for  a  time,  but 
nature  gave  him  a  capacity  for,  and  a  taste 
of,  manifold  happiness,  only  that  he  might 
suffer  the  more.  'M  had  one  enemy  — 
echo,"  he  says  in  his  autobiography.  He 
was  soon  made  uneasily  conscious  that  the 


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215 


echo  of  his  teaching  and  the  echo  of  the  glad 
life  of  the  colony  had  reached  Clairvaux. 

The  first  definite  complaint  that  reached 
his  ears  referred  to  the  dedication  of  his 
oratory.  Though  formally  dedicated  to  the 
Trinity,  it  was  especially  devoted  to  the 
Holy  Spirit,  in  the  character  of  Paraclete 
(Comforter) ;  indeed,  both  it  and  the  later 
nunnery  were  known  familiarly  as  '*the 
Paraclete."  Some  captious  critics  had,  it 
appears,  raised  a  question  whether  it  was 
lawful  to  dedicate  a  chapel  to  one  isolated 
member  of  the  Trinity.  The  question  was 
absurd,  for  the  Church  frequently  offers 
worship  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  without  mention- 
ing the  Father  and  the  Son.  The  cautious 
Abelard,  however,  defends  his  dedication  at 
great  length.  A  second  attack  was  made 
under  the  pretext  of  questioning  the  propri- 
ety of  an  image  of  the  Trinity  which  was 
found  in  the  oratory.  Some  sculptor  in  the 
colony  had  endeavoured  to  give  an  ingenious 
representation  of  the  Trinity  in  stone.  He 
had  carved  three  equal  figures  from  one  block 
of  stone,  and  had  cut  on  them  inscriptions 


2l6 


Peter  Ab^lard 


appropriate  to  each  Person  of  the  Trinity.^ 
Such  devices  were  common  in  the  Church, 
common  in  all  Trinitarian  religions,  in  fact. 
But  Abelard  was  credited  with  intentions 
and  interpretations  in  everything  he  did. 
Neither  of  these  incidents  proved  serious, 
however.  It  was  not  until  Abelard  heard 
that  Alberic  and  Lotulphe  were  inciting  *'  the 
new  apostles ''  to  assail  him  that  he  be- 
came seriously  alarmed.  The  new  apostles 
were  Bernard  of  Clairvaux  and  Norbert  of 
Pr^montr^. 

Not  many  leagues  from  the  merry  valley 
on  the  Arduzon  was  another  vale  that  had 
been  peopled  by  men  from  the  cities.  It 
was  a  dark,  depressing  valley,  into  which 
the  sun  rarely  struggled.  The  Valley  of 
Wormwood  men  called  it,  for  it  was  in  the 
heart  of  a  wild,  sombre,  chilly  forest.  The 
men  who  buried  themselves  in  it  were 
fugitives,  not  merely  from  the  hot  breath  of 
the  cities  and  the  ugly  deeds  of  their  fel- 
lows, but  even  from  the  gentler  inspiration 


'  The  statue  was  preserved  in  a  neighbouring  church  until  the 
eighteenth  century.     It  was  destroyed  at  the  Revolution. 


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217 


of  nature,  even  from  its  purest  thrills. 
They  had  had  a  vision  of  a  golden  city,  and 
believed  it  was  to  be  entered  by  the  path  of 
self-torture.  The  narrow  windows  of  their 
monastery  let  in  but  little  of  the  scanty 
light  of  the  valley.  With  coarse  bread  and 
herbs,  and  a  few  hours'  sleep  on  boxes  of 
dried  leaves,  they  made  a  grudging  conces- 
sion to  the  law  of  living.  But  a  joke  was  a 
sacrilege  in  the  Valley  of  Wormwood,  and 
a  song  a  piece  of  supreme  folly.  The  only 
sound  that  told  the  ravens  and  the  owls  of 
the  presence  of  man  was  the  weird,  minor 
chant  for  hours  together,  that  did  not  even 
seem  to  break  the  silence  of  the  sombre 
spot.  By  day,  the  white-robed,  solemn 
shades  went  about  their  work  in  silence. 
The  Great  Father  had  made  the  pilgrimage 
to  heaven  so  arduous  a  task  that  they  dare 
not  talk  by  the  wayside. 

Foremost  among  them  was  a  frail,  tense, 
absorbed,  dominant  little  man.  The  face 
was  white  and  worn  with  suffering,  the 
form  enfeebled  with  disease  and  exacting 
nervous  exaltation ;  but  there  was  a  light 


2l8 


Peter  Abelard 


of  supreme  strength  and  of  joy  in  the  pene- 
trating eyes.  He  was  a  man  who  saw  the 
golden  city  with  so  near,  so  living  a  vision, 
that  he  was  wholly  impatient  of  the  trivial 
pleasures  of  earth ;  a  man  formed  in  the 
mould  of  world-conquerors  and  world-poli- 
ticians, in  whose  mind  accident  had  substi- 
tuted a  supernatural  for  a  natural  ideal ;  a 
man  of  such  intensity  and  absorption  of 
thought  that  he  was  almost  incapable  of  ad- 
mitting a  doubt  as  to  the  correctness  of  his 
own  judgment  and  purpose,  and  the  folly  of 
all  that  was  opposed  to  it ;  a  man  in  whom 
an  altruistic  ethic  might  transform,  or  dis- 
guise, but  could  never  suppress,  the  de- 
mand of  the  entire  nature  for  self-assertion. 
This  was  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  who  had 
founded  the  monastery  in  the  deepest 
poverty  ten  years  before.  He  was  soon  to 
be  the  most  powerful  man  in  Christendom. 
And  he  held  that,  if  the  instinct  of  reasoning 
and  the  impulse  of  love  did  indeed  come 
from  God  and  not  from  the  devil,  they  were 
of  those  whimsical  gifts,  such  as  the  deity 
of   the    Middle    Ages  often  gave,  which 


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219 


were  given  with  a  trust  they  would  be 
rejected. 

The  other  new  apostle  was  St.  Norbert, 
the  founder  of  the  Premonstratensian  can- 
ons. He  had  fruitlessly  endeavoured  to  re- 
form the  existing  order  of  canons^  and  had 
then  withdrawn  to  form  a  kind  of  monas- 
tery of  canons  at  Premontr^,  not  far  from 
Laon,  where  he  occasionally  visited  Anselm. 
His  disciples  entered  zealously  into  the  task 
of  policing  the  country.  No  disorder  in 
faith  or  morals  escaped  their  notice  ;  and 
although  Norbert  was  far  behind  Bernard  in 
political  ability,  the  man  who  incurred  his 
pious  wrath  was  in  an  unenviable  position. 
He  had  influence  with  the  prelates  of  the 
Church,  on  account  of  his  reforms  and  the 
sanctity  of  his  life  ;  he  had  a  profound  influ- 
ence over  the  common  people,  not  only 
through  his  stirring  sermons,  but  also 
through  the  miracles  he  wrought.  Abelard 
frequently  bases  his  rationalistic  work  on 
the  fact,  which  he  always  assumes  to  be 
uncontroverted,  that  the  age  of  miracles  is 
over.    Norbert,  on  the  contrary,  let  it  be 


220 


Peter  Abelard 


distinctly  understood  that  he  was  a  thau- 
maturgus  of  large  practice.  Abelard  ridi- 
culed his  pretensions,  and  the  stories  told 
of  him.  Even  in  his  later  sermons  we  find 
him  scornfully  ''exposing''  the  miracles  of 
Norbert  and  his  companions.  They  used 
to  slip  medicaments  unobserved  into  the 
food  of  the  sick,  he  says,  and  accept  the 
glory  of  the  miracle  if  the  fever  was  cured. 
They  even  attempted  to  raise  the  dead  to  life ; 
and  when  the  corpse  retained  its  hideous 
rigidity,  after  they  had  lain  long  hours  in 
prayer  in  the  sanctuary,  they  would  turn 
round  on  the  simple  folk  in  the  church  and 
upbraid  them  for  the  littleness  of  their  faith. 
This  poor  trickery  was  the  chief  source  of 
the  power  of  the  Premonstratensian  canons 
over  the  people.  Abelard  could  not  expose 
and  ridicule  it  with  impunity. 

These  were  the  new  apostles —  *'  pseudo- 
apostles"  Heloise  calls  them— whom  Al- 
beric  and  Lotulphe  now  incited  to  take  up 
the  task  which  they  themselves  dared  pur- 
sue no  longer.  And  so,  says  Abelard, 
"they  heaped  shameless  calumnies  on  me 


ii 


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221 


at  every  opportunity,  and  for  some  time 
brought  much  discredit  upon  me  in  the  eyes 
of  certain  ecclesiastical  as  well  as  secular 
dignitaries.''  We  shall  find  that,  when 
Abelard  stands  before  the  ecclesiastical  tri- 
bunal a  second  time,  many  of  his  earlier 
friends  have  deserted  him,  and  have  fallen 
under  the  wide-reaching  influence  of  St. 
Bernard. 

But  it  is  strenuously  denied  by  prejudiced 
admirers  of  St.  Bernard  that  he  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  Abelard  at  this  period. 
Father  Hefele,  for  instance,  thinks  that 
Abelard  is  guilty  of  some  chronological  con- 
fusion in  the  passage  quoted  above ;  look- 
ing back  on  the  events  of  his  life,  he  has 
unconsciously  transferred  the  later  activity 
of  Bernard  to  the  earlier  date,  not  clearly 
separating  it  in  time  from  the  work  of 
Alberic  and  Norbert.  Unfortunately,  the 
Story  of  my  Calamities  was  written  before 
Bernard  commenced  his  open  campaign 
against  Abelard.  We  shall  see  later  that 
this  is  beyond  dispute.  There  is,  then,  no 
question  of  confusion. 


I 


222 


Peter  Ab^lard 


Mr.  Cotter  Morison  says  it  is  ''not  far 
short  of  impossible  "  that  Bernard  showed 
any  active  hostility  to  Abelard  at  that  time, 
and  he  thinks  the  charge  springs  merely 
from    an  over-excited  imagination.       Mr. 
Morison  is  scarcely  happier  here  than  in  his 
earlier  passage.    It  must  be  understood  that 
this  reluctance  to  admit  the  correctness  of 
Abelard's  complaint  is  inspired  by  a  passage 
in  one  of  Bernard's  letters.     In  writing  to 
William  of  St.    Thierry  (ep.    cccxxvii.   in 
Migne),  fifteen  years  afterwards,  he  excuses 
his  inaction  with  regard  to  Abelard  (whose 
heresies  William  has  put  before  him)  on  the 
ground  that  he  '*  was  ignorant  of  most,  in- 
deed nearly  all,  of  these  things."    This  is 
interpreted  to  mean  that  he  knew  little  or 
nothing  about  Abelard  until  1141,  and  the 
Abelardists  generally  give  a  more  or  less 
polite  intimation  that  it  is— what  Mr.  Poole 
explicitly  calls  another  statement  of  Ber>^ 
nard's  —  a  lie.     Cotter  Morison,  however, 
interprets  ''these  things''  to  mean   "the 
special  details  of  Ab^lard's  heresy,"  and  it  is 
therefore  the  more  strange  that  he  should 


J 


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223 


join  the  Bernardists  in  straining  the  histori- 
cal evidence.  Yet  he  is  probably  nearer  to 
the  truth  than  the  others  in  his  interpreta- 
tion of  Bernard's  words.  Even  modern 
writers  are  too  apt  at  times  to  follow  the 
practice  of  the  Church  in  judging  a  state- 
ment or  an  action,  and  put  it  into  one  or 
other  of  their  rigid  objective  categories.  In 
such  cases  as  this  we  need  a  very  careful 
psychological  analysis,  and  are  prone  to  be 
misled  by  the  Church's  objective  moral 
boxes  or  classifications.  Most  probably 
Bernard  wrote  in  that  convenient  vagueness 
of  mind  which  sometimes  helps  even  a  saint 
out  of  a  difficulty,  especially  where  the 
honour  of  the  Church  is  involved,  and 
which  is  accompanied  by  just  a  suspicion  of 
ethical  discomfort. 

In  reality,  we  may,  with  all  sobriety,  re- 
verse Mr.  Morison's  statement,  and  say  it  is 
"  not  far  short  of  impossible  "  that  Bernard 
was  ignorant  of,  or  indifferent  to,  Abelard's 
activity  at  that  time.  Ten  years  previously, 
when  Bernard  led  his  little  band  of  white- 
robed  monks  to  their  wretched  barn  in  the 


I 


If 


224 


Peter  Ab^lard 


Vale  of  Bitterness,  he  went  to  Chalons  to 
be  consecrated  by  William  of  Champeaux. 
William  conceived  a  very  strong  affection 
for  the  young  abbot,  and  he  shortly  after 
nursed  him  through  a  long  and  severe  ill- 
ness. So  great  w^as  their  intimacy  and  so 
frequent  their  intercourse  that  people  said 
Chalons  and  Clairvaux  had  changed  places. 
This  began  only  twelve  months  after  Wil- 
liam had  been  driven  from  Paris,  in  intense 
anger,  by  the  heretical  upstart,  Peter  Ab6- 
lard.  Again,  Alberic  was  another  of  Ber- 
nard's intimate  friends.  A  year  or  two 
before  Abelard  founded  the  Paraclete  —  that 
is  to  say,  about  the  time  of  the  Council  of 
Soissons— we  find  Bernard  ''  imploring ''  (so 
even  Duchesne  puts  it)  the  Pope  to  appoint 
Alberic  to  the  vacant  see  of  Chalons  after  the 
death  of  William.  He  failed  to  obtain  it,  but 
afterwards  secured  for  him  the  archbishopric 
of  Bourges.  Anselm  of  Laon  was  also  a  friend 
of  Bernard's.  Moreover,  Clairvaux  was 
only  about  forty  miles  from  Troyes,  where 
Ab^lard's  latest  feat  was  the  supreme  topic. 
It  is  thus  quite  impossible  for  any  but  a 


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225 


prejudiced  apologist  to  question  Bernard's 
interest  in  the  life  of  the  Paraclete  and  its 
founder.  Even  were  he  not  the  heresy- 
hunter  and  universal  reformer  that  he  no- 
toriously was,  we  should  be  compelled  to 
think  that  he  had  heard  all  the  worst 
charges  against  Abelard  over  and  over  again 
before  1124.  To  conceive  Bernard  as  en- 
tombed in  his  abbey,  indifferent  to  every- 
thing in  this  world  except  the  grave,  is  the 
reverse  of  the  truth.  Bernard  had  a  very 
profound  belief  in  what  some  theologians 
call  **the  law  of  secondary  causes,"— God 
does  not  do  directly  what  he  may  accom- 
plish by  means  of  human  instruments. 
Prayer  was  necessary  ;  but  so  were  vigil- 
ance, diplomacy,  much  running  to  and  fro, 
and  a  vast  correspondence.  He  watched 
the  Church  of  God  with  the  fiery  zeal  of  a 
St.  Paul.  He  knew  everything  and  every- 
body ;  smote  archbishops  and  kings  as 
freely  as  his  own  monks ;  hunted  down 
every  heretic  that  appeared  in  France  in 
his  day ;  played  even  a  large  part  in  the 
politics  of  Rome.    And  we  are  to  suppose 


I 


226 


Peter  Ab^lard 


that  such  a  man  was  ignorant  of  the  pre- 
sence of  the  gay,  rationalistic  colony  a  few 
leagues  away  from  his  abbey,  and  of  the 
unique  character  and  profound  importance 
to  the  Church  of  that  va>st  concourse  of 
youths ;  or  that  he  refrained  from  examin- 
ing the  teaching  of  this  man  who  had  an 
unprecedented  influence  over  the  youth  of 
France,  or  from  using  the  fulness  of  his 
power  against  him  when  he  found  that  his 
teaching  was  the  reverse  of  all  he  held 
sacred  and  salutary. 

We  may  take  Abelard's  statement  liter- 
ally. Bernard  and  Norbet  were  doing  the 
work  of  his  rivals,  and  were  doing  it  effect- 
ively. They  who  had  supported  him  at 
Soissons  or  afterwards  were  being  poisoned 
against  him.  Count  Theobald  and  Geoffrey 
of  Chartres  are  probably  two  whom  he  had 
in  mind.  He  feels  that  the  net  is  being 
drawn  close  about  him,  through  the  calum- 
nies of  these  ubiquitous  monks  and  canons. 
The  peace  of  the  valley  is  broken  ;  he  be- 
comes morbidly  sensitive  and  timorous. 
Whenever  he  hears  that  some  synod  or 


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227 


conventicle  has  been  summoned  he  trem- 
bles with  anxiety  and  expectation  of  another 
Soissons.  The  awful  torture  of  that  hour 
before  the  council  comes  back  to  him,  and 
mingles  with  the  thought  of  the  power  of 
his  new  enemies.  He  must  fly  from  France. 
Away  to  the  South,  over  the  Pyrenees, 
was  a  land  where  the  poor  monk  would 
have  found  peace,  justice,  and  honour. 
Spain  was  just  then  affording  ''glory  to 
God  in  heaven,  and  peace  to  men  of  good- 
will on  earth  " ;  it  had  been  snatched  from 
the  dominion  of  Christianity  for  a  century 
or  two.  So  tolerant  and  beneficent  was 
the  reign  of  the  Moors  that  even  the  Jews, 
crushed,  as  they  were,  by  seven  centuries 
of  persecution,  developed  their  finest  powers 
under  it.  They  were  found  in  the  front 
rank  of  every  art  and  science  ;  in  every  field 
where,  not  cunning  and  astuteness,  but 
talent  of  the  highest  order  and  industry, 
were  needed  to  command  success.  The 
Moors  had  happily  degenerated  from  the 
fierce  proselytism  of  their  religious  prophet 
—whilst  the  Christians  had  proportionately 


I 


228 


Peter  Ab61ard 


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229 


enlarged  on  that  of  theirs— and  their  human 
character  was  asserting  the  high  natural 
ideal  which  it  always  does  when  it  breaks 
away  from  the  confining  bonds  of  a  narrow 
dogma. 

It  was  towards  this  land  that  Abelard 
turned  his  thoughts.  It  seemed  useless  for 
him  to  exchange  one  Christian  land  for  an- 
other. A  few  years  before,  a  small  group 
of  French  monks  had  created  a  centre  of 
education  in  a  humble  barn  on  the  banks 
of  the  Cam  ;  but  was  England  more  toler- 
ant than  France  ?  He  remembered  Rosce- 
lin 's  experience.  There  were  famous  schools 
in  Italy  ;  but  some  of  his  most  brilliant  pu- 
pils at  the  Paraclete,  such  as  Arnold  of 
Brescia,  had  little  good  to  say  of  Italy. 
The  evil  lay  in  Christianity  itself— in  that 
intolerance  which  its  high  claim  naturally 
engendered. 

One  does  not  like  to  accept  too  easily  this 
romantic  proposal  to  find  refuge  under  the 
protection  of  the  crescent,  yet  Ab^lard's 
words  compel  us  to  do  so.  ''God  knows," 
he  says,  ''that  at  times  I  fell  into  so  deep  a 


despair  that  I  proposed  to  go  forth  from 
Christendom  and  betake  me  to  the  heathens 
...  to  live  a  Christian  life  amid  the  ene- 
mies of  Christ."  Possibly  he  would  have 
done  so  if  he  had  had  a  better  knowledge 
of  Spain  at  that  time.  The  Arabs  of  Spain 
were  no  enemies  of  Christ.  Only  a  most 
perverse  idea  of  their  state  could  make  an 
able  thinker  and  teacher  thus  regard  a  life 
amongst  them  as  a  matter  of  ultimate  and 
desperate  resort.  Had  they  but  conquered 
Europe,  materially  or  morally,  half  the  pro- 
blems that  still  harass  it— or  ought  to  do- 
would  have  been  solved  long  ago.  It  is 
pathetic  to  find  Abelard  speculating  whether 
the  hatred  of  the  Christians  for  him  will  not 
make  his  path  easier  to  the  favour  of  the 
Arabs,  by  producing  in  them  an  impression 
that  he  had  been  unfaithful  to  Christian 
dogma.  The  caliphs  could  keep  a  watchful 
eye  on  the  thoughts  of  professed  Moham- 
medan philosophers,  but  they  cared  little 
about  the  theoriesof  others.  Abelard,  with  his 
pronounced  tendency  to  concentrate  on  nat- 
ural religious  and  ethical  truths,  would  have 


« 


230 


Peter  Abdiard 


found  an  honoured  place  in  Spain ;  and  he 
would  quickly  have  buried  his  dogmas  there. 
Ab^lard  was  spared  the  trial  of  so  desperate 
and  dreadful  a  secession.    Far  away  on  the 
coast  of  Brittany  an  abbot  died  in  1 125,  and 
Abelard's  evil  genius  put  it  into  the  hearts  of 
the  monks  to  offer  the  vacant  dignity  to  the 
famous  teacher.    They  sent  some  of  their 
number  to  see  him  at  the  Paraclete.    It 
seemed  a  providential  outlet  from  his  intoler- 
able position.    There  were  abbeys  and  ab- 
beys, it  was  true,  but  his  Breton  optimism  and 
trust  in  fate  closed  that  avenue  of  specula- 
tion.   Conon,  Duke  of  Brittany,  had  agreed 
to  his  installation.    Suger  made  no  opposi- 
tion ;  he  probably  saw  the  net  that  was 
being  drawn  about  him  in  France.    Abelard 
turned  sadly  away  from  the  vale  of  the  Par- 
aclete and  the  devoted  colony,  and  faced 
the  mists  of  the  West  and  of  the  future.    ''  I 
came  not  to  bring  peace  into  the  world  but 
the  sword." 


Chapter  X 

The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 

A  BELARD  had,  of  course,  commited  an- 
^  other  serious  blunder  in  accepting  the 
proffered  ' '  dignity. "  There  was  an  error  on 
both  sides,  as  there  had  been  in  his  first 
fatal  assumption  of  the  cowl ;  though  on 
this  occasion  the  pressure  behind  him  was 
greater,  the  alternative  less  clear,  and  the 
prospect  at  least  uncertain.  It  will  be  re- 
membered that  Abelard  probably  studied  at 
Locmenach  in  his  early  years.  This  was  a 
branch  monastery  of  the  ancient  abbey  of 
St.  Gildas  at  Rhuys,  on  the  coast ;  and  it  is 
not  impossible  that  some  recollection  of  the 
monks  of  Locmenach  entered  into  his  deci- 
sion to  become  abbot  of  St.  Gildas.  There 
were  probably  few  abbeys  in  France  at  the 
time  which  were   sufficiently  moral   and 

earnest  in  their  life  to  offer  a  congenial  home 

231 


232 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


233 


to  this  man  who  is  held  up  to  the  blushes 
of  the  ages  as  a  sinner,  and  of  whom  the 
Church  only  speaks  in  the  low  and  solemn 
tone  that  befits  a  great  scandal.  If  Ab^lard's 
first  and  chief  misfortune  is  that  he  was  a 
Christian,  his  second  is  that  he  was  a  monk. 
The  abbey  of  St.  Gildas  had  reached  the 
last  stage  of  monastic  decay.  The  monks 
did  not  accept  presents  of  pretty  maid-serv- 
ants, nor  receive  fine  lady  visitors  in  their 
abbey,  like  the  monks  of  St.  Denis ;  nor 
were  they  eager  to  have  a  nunnery  of  sisters 
in  religion  close  at  hand,  like  the  cloistered 
canons.  Theirs  was  not  a  case  for  the  appli- 
cation of  the  words  of  Erasmus  :  Vocantur 
' patres ' — et  scepe  sunt.  Each  monk  had  a 
respectable  wife  and  family  on  the  monastic 
estate.  The  outlying  farms  and  cottages 
were  colonised  with  the  women  and  the  lit- 
tle monklings  ;  there  was  no  cemetery  of 
infant  bones  at  or  near  St.  Gildas.  Their 
monasticism  consisted  in  the  discharge  of 
their  formal  religious  exercises  in  church  and 
choir— the  chant  of  the  Mass  and  of  the 
breviary.     And  when  the  monk  had  done 


(i 


his  day's  work  of  seven  or  eight  hours' 
chanting  he  would  retire,  like  every  other 
Christian,  to  the  bosom  of  his  family.  The 
half-civilised  Celtic  population  of  the  district 
were  quite  content  with  this  version  of  their 
duty,  and  did  not  refuse  them  the  customary 
sustenance. 

Abelard's  horror  on  discovering  this  state 
of  things  was  equalled  by  the  surprise  of  the 
monks  when  they  discovered  his  Quixotic 
ideas  of  monastic  life.  They  only  knew 
Abelard  as  the  amorous  troubadour,  the 
teacher  who  attracted  crowds  of  gay  and 
wealthy  scholars  wherever  he  went,  the 
object  of  the  bitter  hostility  of  the  monastic 
reformers  whom  they  detested.  It  was  the 
Bernardist  orNorbertian  Abelard  whom  they 
had  chosen  for  their  abbot.  Surprise  quickly 
turned  to  disgust  when  the  new  abbot 
lectured  them  in  chapter— as  a  sexless  ascetic 
could  so  well  do— on  the  beauty  of  conti- 
nence and  the  Rule  of  St.  Benedict.  They 
were  rough,  ignorant,  violent  men,  and  they 
soon  made  it  clear  that  reform  was  hopelessly 
out  of  the  question. 


\, 


234 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


235 


I 


The  very  locality  proved  an  affliction.   He 
had  exchanged  the  gentle  beauty  and  the 
mild  climate  of  the  valley  of  the  Seine  for  a 
wild,  bleak,  storm-swept  seashore.     The 
abbey  was  built  on  a  small  promontory  that 
ran  out  into  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  a  few  leagues 
to  the  south  of  Vannes.     It  was  perched 
on  the  edge  of  the  steep,  granite  cliffs,  and 
Abelard's  very  pen  seems  to  shudder  as  he 
writes  of  the  constant  roar  of  the  waves  at 
the  foot  of  the  rocks  and  the  sweep  of 
the  ocean  winds.    Behind  them  stretched  a 
long  series  of  sand-hills.    They  occupied  a 
scarcely  gracious  interval  between  desolation 
and  desolation.    For  Abelard  was  not  of  the 
temperament  to  appreciate  the  grandeur  of 
an  ever-restless  ocean  or  to  assimilate  the 
strength  that  is  borne  on  its  winds.    He  was 
sadly  troubled.     Here  he  had  fled,  he  says, 
to  the  very  end  of  the  earth,  the  storm-tossed 
ocean  barring  his  further  retreat,  yet  he  finds 
the  world  no  less  repulsive  and  cruel. 

In  the  character  of  abbot,  Abelard  was 
at  liberty  to  seek  what  consolation  he  could 
outside  his  abbey.     He  soon  found  that 


there  was  none  to  be  had  in  the  vicinity  of 
Rhuys.  **  The  whole  barbarous  population 
of  the  land  was  similarly  lawless  and  undis- 
ciplined," he  says;  that  seems  to  include 
such  other  monks  and  priests  as  the  local- 
ity contained.  Even  their  language  was 
unintelligible  to  him,  he  complains;  for, 
although  he  was  a  Breton,  his  ear  would 
only  be  accustomed  to  Latin  and  to  Rom- 
ance French,  which  would  differ  consider- 
ably from  the  Celtic  Bas-Breton.  Whether 
the  lord  of  the  district  was  equally  wild— 
as  seems  most  probable— or  no,  the  way 
to  his  chateau  was  barred  by  another  diffi- 
culty. He  was  considered  the  bitter  enemy 
of  the  abbey,  for  he  had  ''annexed"  the 
lands  that  belonged  by  rights  to  the  monks. 
Moreover,  he  exacted  a  heavy  tribute  from 
them.  They  were  frequently  without  food, 
and  wandered  about  stealing  all  they 
could  lay  their  hands  on  for  the  support  of 
their  wives  and  families.  They  violently 
urged  Abelard  to  fight  for  their  rights  and 
find  food  for  them,  instead  of  giving  them 
his  ethereal  discourses.     And  the  abbot 


236 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


237 


!ll 


fl 


I 


it 


succeeded  just  far  enough  to  imbitter  the 
usurper  against  him,  without  obtaining 
much  for  his  lawless  monks.  He  found 
himself  in  a  new  dilemma.  If  he  remained 
in  the  abbey  he  was  assailed  all  day  by  the 
hungry  clamour  and  the  brutal  violence  of 
his  ''subjects'' ;  if  he  went  abroad  the  ty- 
rannical lord  threatened  to  have  him  done 
to  death  by  his  armed  retainers. 

For  three  or  four  years  Abelard  sustained 
this  miserable  existence  almost  without 
alleviation.  In  1129,  however,  an  event 
occurred  which,  evil  as  it  looked  at  the 
moment,  proved  a  source  of  considerable 
happiness  to  him  for  some  years. 

Abbot  Suger,  the  cowled  warrior  and 
statesman,  had  become  monastic  reformer 
after  his  conversion.  The  circumstance 
proved  more  lucrative  to  St.  Denis  than 
would  be  thought.  In  his  De  rebus  a  se 
gestis,  Suger  writes  at  great  length  of  the 
additional  possessions  he  secured  for  the 
abbey,  and  amongst  these  is  enumerated 
the  nunnery  of  St.  Mary  at  Argenteuil.  He 
was  not  only  a  rigid  disciplinarian,  but  he 


had  an  unusual  acquaintance  with  ancient 
records.  Many  of  his  early  years  at  St. 
Denis  had  been  spent  in  the  archivium,  in 
diligent  scrutiny  of  deeds  and  documents 
relating  to  the  earlier  history  of  the  abbey. 
One  day  when  he  was  absorbed  in  this 
study,  he  hit  upon  a  document  from  which 
it  seemed  possible  to  prove  that  the  con- 
vent of  the  Benedictine  nuns  at  Argenteuil, 
two  or  three  miles  away,  belonged  to  the 
monks  of  St.  Denis.  It  was  a  complicated 
question,  the  nuns  dating  their  possession 
from  the  time  of  Charlemagne.  But  when 
Suger  became  abbot  of  St.  Denis  himself, 
and  eager  to  employ  his  political  ability 
and  influence  in  the  service  of  the  abbey, 
he  recollected,  along  with  others,  the  doc- 
ument relating  to  the  nunnery.  When, 
moreover,  he  had  been  converted,  he  was 
able  to  see  the  licentiousness  of  the  nuns 
of  Argenteuil,  and  make  it  a  pretext  for 
asserting  the  rights  of  his  abbey. 

In  1 127,  he  states  in  his  Life,  he  obtained 
from  Honorius  II.  a  bull  which  was  sup- 
posed to  legalise  his  seizure  of  the  convent : 


I 


If  '"''* 


238 


Peter  Ab^lard 


it! 


^^li 


;« 


"both  in  justice  to  ourselves  and  on  ac- 
count of  the  enormity  of  life  of  the  nuns 
who  were  established  there,  he  restored 
the  place  to  us  with  its  dependencies,  so 
that  the  religious  life  might  be  reinstituted 
in  it/'  In  his  yUa  Ludovici  Grossi  he  also 
lays  stress  on  the  "foul  enormity"  of  life 
in  the  nunnery. 

How  far  we  may  accept  the  strong  language 
of  the  enterprising  abbot  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say.    Honorius,  who  would  be  flattered 
by  the  request  to  pronounce  on  the  domestic 
difficulties  of  the  Church  of  France,  would 
certainly  not  be  over-exacting  in  the  matter 
of  proof.    Still,  he  sent  a  legate,  the  Bishop 
of  Albano,  and  directed  him  to  hold  an  in- 
quiry into   the   affair,  together  with   the 
Archbishop  of  Rheims  and  the  Bishops  of 
Paris,  Chartres,  and  Soissons.     The  name 
of  Geoffrey  of  Chartres  is  a  guarantee  that 
the  inquiry  was  more  than  a  mere  cloak  to 
cover  the  sanctioning  of  a  questionable  act. 
Although,  we  must  remember,  Suger  does 
not  quote  their  words  in  the  above  passage, 
they  must  have  decided  that  his  charge  was 


ii 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


239 


substantially  founded.  The  nuns  were 
turned  out  of  their  convent  a  few  months 
afterwards. 

The  asserted  corruption  of  the  nunnery  is 
quite  in  accord  with  what  we  know  of  the 
period  from  other  sources.  We  have  already 
quoted  Jacques  de  Vitry's  observation  that 
none  of  the  convents  of  the  time,  except 
those  of  the  Cistercians  (his  own  order), 
were  fit  places  for  an  honest  woman  ;  and  he 
describes  the  "thousand  tricks ^and  wicked 
artifices  "  by  which  respectable  ^^mes  were 
sometimes  induced  to  enter  them.  The 
same  Vandyke-like  painter  of  the  morals  of 
the  twelfth  century  elsewhere  passes  a  com- 
prehensive sentence  on  the  convents  of 
canonesses.  Nor  was  this  the  first  Parisian 
nunnery  to  be  suppressed  in  the  twelfth  cent- 
ury. There  was,  until  11 07,  a  convent  of 
Benedictine  nuns  on  the  island,  on  the  site 
of  the  present  Rue  Calende.  It  was  close  to 
the  royal  palace ;  and  the  relations  ot  the 
nuns  to  the  nobles  of  the  court  had  become 
so  notorious  that  Bishop  Galo  had  to  inter- 
vene and  put  the  good  sisters  on  the  street. 


fif 


240 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


241 


\4 

ill 


.1-? 


5    i 


One  has  only  to  read  Abelard's  sermon  on 
"Susannah"  (delivered  to  an  exemplary 
community  of  nuns)  to  realise  the  condition 
of  the  average  nunnery  at  that  time. 

Heloise  was  prioress  of  the  convent  of 
Argenteuil.  This  is,  indeed,  the  only  cir- 
cumstance that  need  make  us  hesitate  to  ac- 
cept Suger's  words  at  their  literal  value. 
The  Heloise  of  those  writers  who  have  but 
touched  the  love-romance  of  the  famous 
couple,  without  entering  into  a  deeper 
study  of  their  characters,  is  pitifully  inade- 
quate. She  had  all  the  passion  that  poetic 
or  decadent  admirer  has  ever  given  her;  she 
had  that  freer,  because  narrower,  view  of  the 
love-relation,  which  only  regarded  her  own 
particular  and  exceptional  case,  and  did  not 
extend  to  the  thousand  cases  on  which  the 
broad  law  of  matrimony  is  based  ;  and  she 
retained  her  ardent  love  and  her  particularist 
view  throughout  long  years  of  conventual 
life.  We  may  examine  this  more  directly  in 
the  next  chapter.  For  the  moment  it  reveals, 
when  it  is  taken  in  conjunction  with  that 
integrity  and  altitude  of  life  which  none  can 


I 


hesitate  to  assign  her,  a  strength  and  eleva- 
tion of  character  which  are  frequently  ob- 
scured by  the  mere  admirers  of  her  passion. 
We  know  nothing  whatever  of  the  eight  or 
nine  miserable  years  of  her  life  at  Argenteuil; 
but  as  soon  as  she  does  emerge  into  the 
light  of  history  (in  1 1 30)  she  is  found  to  be 
of  an  elevated  and  commanding  character. 
She  was  prioress,  not  abbess,  at  Argenteuil. 
When  she  became  abbess,  her  community 
became  a  centre  of  light  in  France. 

Still,  Heloise  shared  the  fate  of  her  sisters, 
if  she  had  not  shared  their  sin  ;  in  fact,  we 
may  see  a  protest  against  their  life  in  her 
refusal  to  follow  them  to  a  new  home. 
Suger  had  been  directed  to  find  a  nunnery 
which  would  receive  the  evicted  sisters,  and 
most  of  them  had  gone  to  St.  Mary  of 
Footel.  Heloise  had  not  accompanied  them, 
and  she  was  still  without  a  canonical  home 
in  1129,  when  the  news  of  these  events 
reached  the  distant  abbey  of  St.  Gildas. 

The  finest  and  supreme  test  of  love  is  to 
purge  it  of  the  last  subtle  admixture  of 
sexual  feeling  and  then  measure  its  strength. 


II 


242 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


243 


'4 


■M    I 


As  a  rule,  this  is  wholly  impracticable— Mr. 
W.  Piatt  has  a  remarkable  paper  on  the  sub- 
ject in  his  PVomen,  Love,  and  Life,— hut  in 
the  case  of  Abelard  the  test  was  applied  in 
supreme  rigour,  and  with  a  satisfactory  is- 
sue. There  was,  indeed,  another  considera- 
tion impelling  Abelard,  when  he  sought  out 
his  nun-wife.  The  desertion  of  the  Para- 
clete had  cost  him  many  a  heavy  thought. 
The  little  estate  was  still  his  legal  property, 
but  it  was  insufficient  to  support  a  priest 
and  companion  at  the  oratory.  He  would 
assuage  both  anxieties  by  installing  Heloise 
and  such  companions  as  she  chose  in  his 
old  home.  But  the  course  of  the  story  will 
reveal  more  clearly  the  deep  affection  he 
had  for  Heloise.  It  was  faithfulness  to  the 
views  he  held  since  his  conversion,  faithful- 
ness to  the  ideal  of  the  best  men  of  the 
time,  as  well  as  a  dread  of  the  ever-ready 
tongue  of  the  calumniator,  that  separated 
him  so  long  and  so  sternly  from  her. 

In  1 129,  therefore,  the  year  in  which  the 
plague  ravaged  Paris,  Abelard  revisited  the 
quiet  valley  of  the  Arduzon.    Thither  he 


invited  Heloise  and  some  of  her  compan- 
ions, to  whom  he  made  over  the  legal  pos- 
session of  the  estate.  Poor  Heloise  must 
have  been  disappointed.  The  ardour  which 
she  reveals  in  her  letters  was  evidently  met 
by  a  great  restraint  and  formality  on  his 
side.  He  was  severely  correct  in  the  neces- 
sary intercourse  with  his  *'  sisters  in 
religion."  Later  events  showed  that,  ri- 
diculous as  it  may  well  seem,  he  had  good 
reason  for  this  deference  to  detractors. 
However,  Heloise  soon  won  universal  re- 
gard and  affection  in  Champagne.  ''  The 
bishops  came  to  love  her  as  a  daughter," 
says  Abelard,  **the  abbots  as  a  sister,  and 
the  laity  as  a  mother."  They  lived  in  deep 
poverty  and  some  anxiety  at  first,  but  no- 
bles and  prelates  soon  added  generously  to 
the  resources  of  the  new  foundation.  No- 
ble dames,  too,  brought  rich  dowries  with 
them  in  coming  to  ask  for  the  veil  in  He- 
loise's  respected  community.  The  priory 
grew  rapidly  in  importance  and  good  repute. 
In  1131,  Abelard  sought  a  further  favour 
for  the  new  foundation,  in  having  Heloise 


I 


m 


■n 


244 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


raised  to  the  dignity  of  abbess.     Innocent 
II.  was  making  a  journey  through  France, 
and  lavishing  favours  (when  they  cost  him 
nothing)  generously  and  gratuitously  on  all 
sides,  behaving  in  a  manner  that  departed 
widely  from  papal  traditions.    It  was  the 
second  year  of  the  great  papal  schism,  and, 
Anacletus  having  bought  or  otherwise  se- 
cured Rome,  through  his  family,  the  Pier- 
leoni.  Innocent  was  making  a  successful  bid 
for  France,  where  exception  was  taken  to 
Pierleone's  Jewish    strain.     Passing  from 
Chartres  to  Li^ge,  on  his  way  to  meet 
Lothair  of  Saxony,  Innocent  spent  a  day  or 
two  at  the  Benedictine  abbey  of  Morigni. 
Abelard  joined  the  crowd  of  prelates  who 
assembled  there  to  do  homage  to  the  Pope, 
and  he   obtained   the   promise  of  a  bull 
(which  was  duly  sent),  conferring  the  dig- 
nity of  abbess  on  Heloise,  and  securing  to 
her  and  her  successors  the  full  canonical 
rights  of  their  abbey.    Abelard  seems  to 
have  been  received  with  distinction  by  the 
papal  court.    The  chronicle  of  Morigni  men- 
tions the  presence  of  the  Abbot  of  St.  Gildas, 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


245 


and  adds,  ''  the  most  distinguished  teacher 
and  master  in  the  schools,  to  whom  lovers 
of  learning  flocked  from  almost  the  whole 
of  Christendom."  Later,  too,  Abelard  boasts 
(so  says  Bernard)  of  his  friends  amongst 
the  Roman  cardinals  ;  it  must  have  been 
during  the  stay  of  the  papal  court  at  Mo- 
rigni that  he  met  them.  Another  note- 
worthy personage  whom  Abelard  met  there 
was  St.  Bernard.  We  have  no  details  about 
this  first  meeting  of  the  two  great  antagon- 
ists, but  their  names  occur  side  by  side  in 
the  chronicle  as  those  of  the  most  eminent 
teacher  and  the  most  distinguished  preacher 
in  France. 

In  the  increasing  bitterness  of  life  at  St. 
Gildas,  Abelard  now  naturally  sought  con- 
solation in  the  new  abbey  of  the  Paraclete. 
His  relation  to  Heloise  personally  remained 
marked  by  a  reserve  which  hurt  her,  but 
his  visits  to  the  abbey  became  more  fre- 
quent and  prolonged.  It  appears  that  this 
loosened  the  tongues  of  some  foolish  peo- 
ple, and  Abelard  took  up  the  accusation,  or 
insinuation,  with  his  usual  gravity.     His 


246 


Peter  Abelard 


I'liii 

WKM 


11 


apology  is  often  described  as  *' ridiculous" 
and  ''painful";  and  one  certainly  cannot 
take  very  seriously  his  dissertation  on  Ori- 
gen's  misdeed  and  the  Oriental  custom  of 
eunuch-guardians.  More  interesting  is  the 
second  part,  in  which  he  urges  many  pre- 
cedents of  the  familiarity  of  saintly  men 
with  women.  His  favourite  saint,  Jerome, 
afforded  a  conspicuous  illustration  ;  and 
others  were  not  wanting.  It  is  too  early 
-n  the  history  of  theology  to  find  the  ex- 
ample of  Christ  adduced.  A  modern  apolo- 
gist could  greatly  extend  the  list,  beginning 
with  Francis  of  Assisi  (and  Clare)  and  end- 
ing with  Francis  de  Sales  (and  Madame  de 
Chantal).  Perhaps  Ab^lard's  own  case  is 
the  clearest  proof  that  even  masked  sexual 
feeling  may  be  entirely  absent  from  such 
attachments.  Those  who  care  to  analyse 
them  will  probably  find  the  greater  refine- 
ment, gentleness,  sympathy,  and  admira- 
tion of  women  to  be  quite  adequate  to 
explain  such  saintly  intimacies,  without  any 
subtle  research  into  the  psychology  of  sex. 
However,  the   complaint   seems   to  have 


v« 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


247 


moderated  the  abbot's  fervour  for  a  time ; 
and,  indeed,  events  soon  became  absorb- 
ingly interesting  at  St.  Gildas. 

The  frequent  journeys  to  Champagne 
increased  the  bitterness  of  his  monks.  Then 
he  had  a  serious  accident,  nearly  breaking 
his  neck  in  a  fall  from  his  horse.  When  he 
recovered,  he  found  that  his  monks  had 
entered  upon  a  most  dangerous  stage  of 
conspiracy.  The  accident  seems  to  have 
suggested  an  idea  to  them,  and  they  de- 
termined to  rid  themselves  of  an  abbot  who 
was  worse  than  useless.  They  even  put 
poison  in  the  wine  which  he  was  to  use 
in  the  Mass  one  morning,  but  he  discovered 
the  fact  in  time.  On  another  occasion  he 
had  an  adventure  which  may  have  sug- 
gested an  important  incident  in  M.  Zola's 
Rome.  He  had  gone  to  Nantes  to  visit  the 
count  in  an  illness  and  was  staying  with 
his  brother  Dagobert,  who  was  a  canon  in 
the  cathedral.  When  the  time  came  for  the 
abbot  and  his  monastic  companion  to  sup, 
Abelard  had,  providentially,  lost  his  appe- 
tite—or suspected  something.    The  monk 


248 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


249 


ti  it 
I 


supped — and  died.  As  Abelard's  servant 
disappeared  after  the  meal,  it  was  natural 
to  suppose  that  he  had  been  paid  by  the 
ferocious  monks  to  poison  their  abbot. 
*'  How  many  times  did  they  try  to  do  away 
with  me  by  poison  !  "  he  exclaimed.  But 
he  lived  apart  from  them,  and  succeeded 
in  frustrating  the  attempt.  Then  they  hired 
robbers  to  apply  their  professional  skill  to 
the  task.  Whenever  the  monks  heard  that 
he  was  going  anywhere,  they  planted  a  few 
cutthroats  on  the  route. 

Ab^lard  had  no  great  love  for  this  Diony- 
siac  existence,  and  he  resolved  to  make 
a  bold  effort  at  reform.  He  summoned  the 
monks  in  solemn  chapter,  and  hurled  the 
sentence  of  excommunication  at  the  leaders 
of  the  revolt.  It  sat  more  lightly  on  their 
shoulders  than  the  abbot  anticipated,  and 
he  proceeded  to  call  in  the  help  of  a  papal 
legate.  The  Duke  of  Brittany  and  several 
neighbouring  bishops  were  invited  to  the 
function,  and  the  sentence  of  excommuni- 
cation and  expulsion  from  the  abbey  was 
repeated  with  impressive  ceremony.    The 


chief  rebels  were  thus  restricted  to  follow- 
ing the  abbot's  movements  without— in 
company,  apparently,  of  the  hired  assassins 
of  the  monks  and  the  equally  dangerous 
servants  of  the  lord  of  the  manor— and  Abe- 
lard  devoted  his  attention  to  reforming  the 
remainder  of  the  community.  But  the  old 
abbey  was  past  redemption.  ''  The  remain- 
ing monks  began  to  talk,  not  of  poison,  but 
of  cutting  my  throat,"  he  says.  The  circle 
of  knives  was  drawing  closer  upon  him, 
within  and  without,  and  he  saw  that  it 
would  be  impossible  to  guard  his  life  much 
longer.  He  gave  up  the  struggle  and  fled 
from  the  abbey.  There  is  a  local  tradition 
which  tells  of  a  secret  flight  by  night  through 
a  subterranean  passage  leading  down  to  the 
sea.  Abelard  at  least  intimates  there  was 
little  dignity  in  his  retirement,  when  he 
says:  ''Under  the  guidance  of  a  certain 
noble  of  the  district  I  succeeded,  with  great 
difficulty,  in  escaping  from  the  abbey." 

Where  Abelard  found  refuge  from  his 
murderous  *'  sons,"  and  where  he  spent  the 
next  three  or  four  years,  it  is  difficult  to  say. 


i: 


Ill 


250 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


251 


ii 


He  probably  moved  from  place  to  place, 
generally  remaining  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Rhuys,  but  occasionally  journeying  to 
Champagne  or  accepting  an  invitation  to 
preach  at  some  special  festival.    The  ''  cert- 
ain noble  '  — an  uncertain  one,  as  the  phrase 
usually  implies— would  be  likely  to  give 
him  immediate  hospitality ;  and  the  Count 
of  Nantes  was  friendly,   and  would  find 
Abelard  a  graceful  addition  at  his  board. 
Then  there  was  the  family  chateau  at  Pallet, 
and  the  house  of  his  brother  Dagobert  at 
Nantes.    We  seem  to  find  Abelard's  boy, 
Astrolabe,   under  the  care  of  this  brother 
later  on.    Abelard  would  at  all  events  see 
much  of  him,  and  assist  in  educating  him, 
either  at  Pallet  or  Nantes.    The  son  had,' 
apparently,  not  inherited  the  gifts  of  his 
parents.    An  obscure  mention  of  his  death 
in  a  later  necrologium  merely  indicates  the 
close  of  a  correct  but  ordinary  ecclesiastical 
career. 

But  though  Abelard  lacked  neither  wealth 
nor  honour  nor  home,  he  speaks  of  his  con- 
dition as  a  very  pitiable  one.    Deutsch  has 


hazarded  the  conjecture  that  the  monks  of 
St.  Gildas  really  desired  an  abbot  who 
would  be  generally  absent.  It  seems  rather 
that  they  wanted  an  abbot  who  would 
share  their  comfortable  theory  of  life  and 
at  the  same  time  have  influence  to  enrich 
the  abbey,  discontinue  the  paying  of  tribute, 
and  induce  a  higher  authority  to  restrain 
their  tyrannical  neighbours.  They  were 
therefore  naturally  inflamed  when  Abelard 
deserted  the  immediate  concerns  of  the 
abbey,  yet  remained  near  enough  to  secure 
his  revenue  out  of  its  income.  He  retained 
his  title  (we  find  no  successor  appointed 
until  after  his  death),  and  as  he  speaks  of 
wealth,  we  must  suppose  that  he  somehow 
continued  to  obtain  his  income.  The  Count 
of  Nantes  would  probably  support  his  cause 
as  long  as  he  remained  in  Brittany.  But, 
at  the  same  time,  this  detained  him  in  the 
constant  danger  of  assassination.  Where- 
ever  he  went,  he  apprehended  bribery  and 
corruption,  poison  and  poniards.  *'My 
misery  grew  with  my  wealth,"  he  says, 
and  ''  I  find  no  place  where  I  may  rest 


I 


Bi 


Pi' 


252 


Peter  Abdlard 


or   live."    His  classical  reading  promptly 
suggests  the  parallel  of  Damocles. 

It  was  in  these  circumstances  that  Abdlard 
wrote  the  famous  letter  which  he  entitled 
the  Storj^  of  my   Calamities.    The  pass- 
age I  have  just  quoted  occurs  in  its  closing 
paragraph.    It  is  an  invaluable  document 
for  the  purpose  of  the  great  master's  bio- 
graphy.    Without  it,  the  life  of  Abdlard 
would  occupy  only  a  score  of  pages.    His 
contemporaries  had  numbers  of  monastic 
followers  and  admirers  who  were  eager  to 
write  their  deeds  in  letters  of  gold.    The 
little  band  of  friends  who  stood  around 
Abelard  in  his  final  struggle  were  scattered, 
cowed,  or  murdered  by  triumphant  Ber- 
nardism.    At  the  mention  of  Bernard's  name 
Christendom  crossed  itself  and  raised  its 
eyes  to  the  clouds ;  at  the  mention  of  the 
''  Peripatetic  of  Pallet "  it  closed  its  pious 
lips,  forgetful,  or  ignorant,  of  the  twenty 
years  of  profound  sorrow  for  the  one  grave 
delinquency  of  his  life.    If  the  sins  of  youth 
are  to  leave  an  indelible  stain,  one  is  forced 
to  recall  that  Augustine  had  been  a  greater 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


253 


sinner,  and  that  the  Canon  of  the  Church 
contains  the  names  of  converted  prostitutes, 
such  as  Mary  of  Magdala,  and  Mary  Mag- 
dalene of  Pazzi.  It  may  be  thought  by 
some  Catholics  that,  in  the  uncertainty  of 
human  judgment,  there  is  a  providential 
criterion  given  in  the  working  of  miracles  ; 
but,  once  more,  even  the  fifth  century  cred- 
ited St.  Augustine  with  only  two  miracles. 
And  if  intention  to  serve  the  Church  be  all- 
important,  Abelard  has  won  high  merit ; 
or  if  effective  service  to  the  Church,  then 
is  his  merit  the  greater,  for  the  thirteenth 
century,  in  its  construction  of  that  theology 
and  philosophy  which  the  Church  even 
now  deems  sufficient  for  the  needs  of  the 
world,  utterly  rejected  Bernardism,  and 
borrowed  its  foundation  from  Pierre  Abelard. 
As  a  piece  of  literature,  the  Story  lies 
under  the  disadvantage  of  being  written  in 
degenerate  Latin.  With  all  his  classical 
reading,  Abelard  has  not  escaped  the  use 
of  forms  which  gravely  offend  the  classical 
taste.  Perhaps  John  of  Salisbury  is  superior 
to  him  in  this  respect ;  there  certainly  have 


254 


Peter  Abdlard 


been  later  theologians,  such  as  Petavius, 
who  have  far  surpassed  him.  But,  apart 
from  this  limitation  in  form,  it  is  as  high 
above  the  many  biographies  and  autobio- 
graphies of  his  contemporaries  as  he  himself 
w^as  above  most  of  their  winters.  Abbot 
Suger's  autobiography  is  a  piece  of  vulgar 
and  crude  self-advertisement  beside  it.  It 
has  not  the  mere  chance  immortality  w^hich 
honours  such  works  as  that  of  Suger,  and 
which  is  wholly  due  to  the  zeal  of  the  mod- 
ern collector  of  ancient  documents  ;  it  has 
the  germ  of  immortality  within  it— the  same 
soul  that  lives  in  the  Confessions  of  August- 
ine ;  those  who  understand  that  soul  will 
not  add  the  Confession  of  Rousseau.  And 
the  confession  of  Abelard  has  this  singular 
feature— it  is  written  by  a  man  to  whom  the 
former  sinful  self  is  dead  in  a  way  which 
was  impossible  to  Augustine.  That  feature 
implies  both  advantages  and  disadvantages, 
but  it  at  least  gives  a  unique  value  and 
interest  to  the  document. 

We  have  throughout  relied  on  and  quoted 
this  autobiography,  so  that  an  analysis  of  its 


Vi 


The  Trials  of  an  Abbot 


255 


contents  would  be  superfluous.  There  re- 
mains, however,  the  interesting  question  of 
Ab^lard's  motive  for  writing  it.  It  is  ostens- 
ibly written  as  a  letter,  addressed  to  a  friend 
who  is  in  trouble,  and  merely  intended  to 
give  him  some  consolation  by  a  comparison 
of  the  sorrows  of  Abelard.  No  one  will 
seriously  question  that  this  is  only  a  rhetori- 
cal artifice.  Probably  it  reached  such  a 
friend,  but  it  was  obviously  written  for 
**  publication."  In  its  sincere  acknowledg- 
ment of  whatever  fault  lay  on  his  conscience, 
only  striving  to  excuse  where  the  intention 
was  clearly  good,  that  is,  in  the  matter  of 
his  theological  opinions,  the  letter  must  be 
regarded  as  a  conciliatory  document.  Not 
only  its  elaborate  construction,  but  its  care 
in  explaining  how  guiltless  he  was  in  the 
making  of  most  of  his  enemies— Anselm, 
Alberic,  Norbert,  Bernard,  and  the  monks  of 
St.  Denis  and  St.  Gildas— impel  us  to  think 
that  it  was  intended  for  circulation  in 
France.  In  a  few  years  we  shall  find  him  in 
Paris  once  more.  Deutsch  believes  that 
the  Story  was  written  and  circulated  to 


1 1 

■  t 


256 


Peter  Abelard 


prepare  the  way  for  his  return,  and  this  seems 
very  probable.  From  **the  ends  of  the 
earth  "  his  thoughts  and  hopes  were  being 
redirected  towards  Paris  ;  it  had  availed  him 
nothing  to  fly  from  it.  But  there  were 
calumnious  versions  abroad  of  every  step  in 
his  eventful  life,  and  even  Bernard  sneered 
at  his  experience  at  St.  Gildas.  He  would 
make  an  effort  to  regain  the  affection  of 
some  of  his  old  friends,  or  to  create  new 
admirers. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  aim  of  Abe- 
lard in  writing  his  Story,  it  had  one  im- 
mediate consequence  of  the  first  literary 
importance.  Great  of  itself,  it  evoked  a 
correspondence  which  is  unique  in  the  liter- 
ature of  the  world.  It  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Abbess  Heloise,  and  led  to  the  writing  of 
her  famous  Letters. 


Chapter  XI 

The  Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise 


II 


T^HE  true  interest  of  the  correspondence 
*  between  the  abbot  husband  and  the 
abbess  wife  which  resulted  from  the  publi- 
cation of  the  Story  of  my  Calamities  needs 
to  be  pointed  out  afresh  at  the  beginning  of 
the  twentieth  century.  It  has  been  obscured 
through  the  eagerness  of  historians  to  indic- 
ate parallels  and  the  tendency  of  poets  and 
romancers  to  isolate  features  which  appeal 
to  them.  During  the  eighteenth  century  the 
famous  letters  were  made  familiar  to  English 
readers  by  a  number  of  translations  from  the 
French  or  from  the  original  Latin.  Even 
then,  there  was  a  tendency  to  read  them 
apart  from  the  lives  of  the  writers,  or  at  least 
without  an  adequate  preliminary  study  of 
their  characters  and  their  fortunes.  Those 
translations  are  read  no  longer.    Apart  from 


«7 


257 


258 


Peter  Ab^lard 


the  limited  number  of  readers  who  have 
appreciated  the  excellent  French  versions  of 
Madame  Guizot  and  M.  Greard,  an  idea  is 
formed  of  the  letters  and  their  writers  from  a 
few  ardent  fragments,  which  are  misleading 
in  their  isolation,  and  from  the  transference 
of  the  names  ''  Abelard  "  and  "  Heloise  "  to 
more  recent  characters  of  history  or  romance. 
The  letters  must  be  read  anew  in  the  light 
of  our  augmented  knowledge  and  of  the 
juster  psychological  analysis  which  it  has 
made  possible. 

There  are  those  whose  sole  knowledge 
of  Heloise  is  derived  from  the  reading  of 
Pope's  well-known  poem,  which  is  taken  to 
be  a  metrical  exposition  of  her  first  letter. 
With  such  an  impression,  and  a  few  broad 
outlines  of  the  life  of  the  lovers,  one  is  well 
prepared  to  accept  the  assertion  of  a  parallel 
with  the  Portuguese  Letters  and  other  of 
the  lettres  amoureuses  which  were  so  dear  to 
the  eighteenth  century.  Probably  few  who 
compare  Pope  with  the  original,  or,  in- 
deed, read  him  without  comparison,  will 
agree  with  Hallam  that  he  has  put  ''the 


i 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    259 

sentiments  of  a  coarse  and  abandoned  wo- 
man into  her  mouth."  Johnson  found  ''  no 
crudeness  of  sense,  no  asperity  of  language  " 
in  Pope's  poem.  Yet  no  one  who  has  care- 
fully read  the  original  will  fail  to  perceive 
that  Pope  has  given  a  greatly  distorted  ver- 
sion of  it.  French  versifiers  found  it  *'un 
amusement  litteraire  et  galant,"  as  has  been 
said  of  Bussy-Rabutin's  version,  to  isolate 
the  element  of  passion  in  the  finer  soul  of 
Heloise,  and  thus  present  her  as  a  twelfth- 
century  Marianne  Alcoforado.  Pope  has 
yielded  somewhat  to  the  same  spirit.  He 
does,  indeed,  introduce  the  intellectual  judg- 
ment and  the  complex  ethical  feeling  of 
Heloise  in  his  poem,  but  he  alters  the  propor- 
tions of  the  psychic  elements  in  her  letter, 
and  prepares  the  way  for  a  false  estimate. 
Pope's  Heloise^  is  framed  in  the  eighteenth 
century  as  naturally  as  the  real  Heloise  is  in 

*  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  has  kindly  drawn  my  attention  to  Elwin's 
theory  (Pope's  Works)  that  he  followed  the  translation  of  J,  Hughes, 
author  of  the  Siege  of  Damascus.  Hughes's  "  translation  "  was  little 
more  faithful  than  the  current  French  versions  ;  it  is  largely  a  work  of 
imagination.  Careful  comparison  does  seem  to  show  that  Pope  used 
this  version,  but  he  seems  also  to  have  used  some  of  the  very  mislead- 
ing French  paraphrases.  Elwin  himself  thinks  Pope  did  not  look  at 
the  original  Latin. 


26o 


Peter  Abelard 


I 


the  twelfth.  Still,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  Pope  did  not  write  from  the  original 
Latin  letters.  He  evidently  used  some  of 
the  so-called  ''  translations/'  but  really  para- 
phrases, of  his  time. 

The  charge  must  also  be  laid,  though  with 
less  insistence,  against  the  parallels  which 
some  writers  have  discovered,  or  invented, 
for  Heloise.    The  most  famous  are  the  Por- 
tuguese  Letters,  a  series  of  singularly  ardent 
love  letters  from  a  Portuguese  nun  to  a 
French  noble.    The  correspondents  are  said 
to  have  been  Marianne  Alcoforado  and  M. 
de  Chamilly— to  look  at  whom,  said  St. 
Simon,  you  would  never  have  thought  him 
the  soul    of  the   Portuguese  Letters.     He 
was  neither  talented  nor  handsome,  and 
his  liaison  with  the  nun  seems  to  have  been 
no  more  than  the  usual  temporary  incident 
in  a  soldier's  life.     When  he  returned  to 
France,  she  wrote  the  letters  which  are  so 
frequently  associated  with  those  of  Heloise. 
It  is  an  unworthy  and  a  superficial  compari- 
son.   There  is  a  ground  for  comparison  in 
the  condition  of  the  writer  and  in  the  free 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    261 

and  vivid  expression  of  a  consuming  love, 
but  they  are  separated  by  profound  differ- 
ences. The  Portuguese  nun  has  nothing 
but  her  love  ;  her  life  is  being  consumed  in 
one  flame  of  passion.  Heloise  is  never  so 
wholly  lost  in  her  passion  ;  she  can  regard 
it  objectively.  Even  were  Abelard  other 
than  he  was  at  the  time,  no  one  who  knows 
Heloise  could  conceive  her,  after  her  vows, 
to  say,  'Mf  it  were  possible  for  me  to  get 
out  of  this  miserable  cloister,  I  should  not 
wait  in  Portugal  for  the  fulfilment  of  your 
promise,"  or  imagine  her,  under  any  condi- 
tions, to  talk  light-heartedly  to  her  lover  of 
'*the  languid  pleasures  your  French  mis- 
tresses give  you,"  and  remind  him  that  he 
only  sought  in  her  '*un  plaisir  grossier." 
There  is  not  a  word,  in  any  of  the  Portu- 
guese  Letters,  of  God,  of  religious  vows,  of 
any  thought  or  feeling  above  the  plane  of 
sense,  of  any  appreciation  of  the  literal  sacri- 
lege of  her  position,  of  anything  but  a  wil- 
ful abandonment  to  a  violent  passion. 

There  are  the  same  defects,  though  they 
are  less  obtrusive,  in  the  parallel  which 


262 


Peter  Ab^lard 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    263 


iiii^' 


f 

k 

"I 


w 


« 


It 


Rousseau  claimed  in  giving  the  title  of  the 
Nouvelle  Heloise  to  his  Savoyard  letters. 
The  accidental  resemblance  of  the  religious 
costume  is  wanting  here,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  a  greater  show  of  character. 
Rousseau  has  confused  the  Heloise  of  11 17 
and  the  abbess  of  the  letters.  From  an- 
other point  of  view,  one  would  like  to 
know  what  Bussy-Rabutin  or  Colardeau 
would  have  thought  of  the  Nouvelle  Heloise 
as  the  expression  of  an  absorbing  passion. 
Rousseau,  who  held  that  the  Portuguese  Let- 
ters had  been  written  by  a  man,  was  of  the 
singular  opinion  that  no  woman  could  de- 
scribe, or  even  feel,  love.  The  letters  of  his 
Julie  are  pale  fires  beside  the  first  and  sec- 
ond letters  of  Heloise.^ 

In  direct  opposition  to  the  writers  who 
find  parallels  for  the  correspondence  of  ab- 
bess and  abbot,  we  have  a  few  critics  who 

'  I  hardly  like  to  speak  of  the  feeble  creation  of  Robert  Buchanan  in 
such  a  company,  but  his  New  Ahelard  is  a  further  illustration. 
His  pitiful  Mr.  Bradley  has  no  earthly  resemblance  to  Abelard,  except 
in  a  most  superficial  sense.  It  is  grotesque  to  compare  him  to  Abe- 
lard for  his  "  heresy  "  ;  and  to  say  that  he  recalls  Abelard  in  his  weak- 
ness (to  the  extent  of  bigamously  marrying  and  blasting  the  life  of  a 
noble  woman)  is  deeply  unjust.    Abelard  was  not  a  cad. 


deny  or  doubt  the  authenticity  of  the  let- 
ters. It  is  significant  that  the  recent  and 
critical  German  biographers  of  Abelard  do 
not  even  mention  these  doubts.  They 
have,  in  truth,  the  slenderest  of  founda- 
tions. Lalanne,  who  has  endeavoured  to 
spread  this  heresy  in  faithful  France,  can 
say  little  more  than  that  he  cannot  re- 
concile the  tone  of  the  letters  with  the 
age  and  condition  of  the  writers ;  he  also 
says  that  Abelard  would  be  hardly  likely 
to  preserve  such  letters  had  he  received 
them  from  his  wife.  Orelli  has  tried  to 
sow  similar  doubts  in  the  apparently  more 
promising  soil  of  German  culture,  but  with 
no  greater  success.  If  it  seems  incredible 
that  Heloise  should  have  penned  the  letters 
which  bear  her  name,  how  shall  we  qualify 
the  supposition  that  there  lived,  sometime 
within  the  following  century,  a  genius 
capable  of  creating  them,  yet  utterly  un- 
known to  his  contemporaries  ?  If  they  are 
the  work  of  some  admirer  of  Abelard,  as 
Orelli  thinks,  they  reveal  a  higher  literary 
competency  than  Rousseau  shows  in  his 


4 


264 


Peter  Abdlard 


} 


Nouvelle  Heloise.  We  are  asked  to  reject 
a  wonder  in  the  name  of  a  greater  wonder. 
Moreover,  an  admirer  of  Ab^lard  would  not 
have  written  the  letters  which  bear  his 
name  in  a  style  that  has  won  for  him  any- 
thing but  the  admiration  of  posterity.  And 
it  is  quite  impossible  to  admit  one  series 
of  the  letters  without  the  other. 

Setting  apart  the  letters  of  Ab^lard,  which 
it  is  idle  to  question  in  themselves,  it  must 
be  admitted  that  there  are  features  in  the 
letters  of  Heloise  which  are  startling  to  the 
modern  mind.  These  are  the  features  on 
which  her  romantic  admirers  have  concen- 
trated ;  they  will  appear  in  due  course. 
But  when  one  evades  the  pressure  of  mod- 
ern associations,  and  considers  the  corre- 
spondence in  its  twelfth-century  setting, 
there  is  no  inherent  improbability  in  it ; 
rather  the  reverse.  As  to  the  publication 
of  letters  in  which  husband  and  wife  had 
written  the  most  sacred  confidences,  we 
need  not  suppose,  as  M.  Gr^ard  does,  that 
Heloise  ever  intended  such  a  result,  or  built 
up  her  notes  into  letters  for  that  purpose. 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    265 

Nothing  compels  us  to  think  that  they 
were  brought  together  until  years  after  the 
writers  had  been  laid  in  a  common  tomb. 
There  are  obvious  interpolations,  it  is  true, 
but  we  shall  only  increase  the  difficulty 
—nay,  we  shall  create  a  difficulty— if  we 
look  upon  the  most  extraordinary  passages 
in  the  letters  as  coming  from  any  other 
source  than  the  heart  of  an  impassioned 

lover. 

As  regards  what  a  logician  would  call  the 
external  difficulty,— that  we  cannot  trace 
the  letters  further  back  than  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century,— it  need  not  discompose 
us.  The  conditions  which  make  a  negative 
argument  of  that  character  valid  are  not 
present  here.  Abelard  had  been  condemned 
and  his  party  scattered.  There  are  no 
writers  to  whom  we  should  look  for  allu- 
sions to  the  letters  before  Guillaume  de  Lor- 
ris  and  Jehan  le  Meung  manifestly  introduce 
them  in  the  Roman  de  la  Rose.  Indeed,  this 
circumstance,  and  the  fact  that  the  oldest 
manuscript  we  have  dates  from  one  hundred 
years  after  the  death  of  Heloise,  incline  one 


266 


Peter  Abdlard 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    267 


ill 


:Mfj 


«l 


to  think  that  she  wished  the  treasure  to  be 
preserved  in  a  reverent  privacy. 

To  give  any  large  proportion  of  the  letters 
here  w^ouid  be  impossible,  yet  we  must  give 
such  extracts  from  them  as  may  serve  in  the 
task  of  reconstructing  character.  It  was  an 
age  when  the  practice,  if  not  the  art,  of  let- 
ter-writing greatly  flourished.  St.  Bernard's 
lettersform  a  portly  and  a  remarkable  volume. 
The  chroniclers  of  the  time  have  preserved 
an  immense  number  of  the  Latin  epistles 
which  busy  couriers  bore  over  the  land. 
One  is  prepared,  therefore,  to  find  much 
formality,  much  attention  to  the  rules  and 
the  conventional  graces  of  the  epistolary 
art,  even  in  the  letters  of  Heloise.  The 
strong,  impetuous  spirit  does  at  times  break 
forth,  in  splendid  violence,  from  its  self-im- 
posed restraint,  but  we  have,  on  the  whole, 
something  very  unlike  the  utter  and  un- 
thinking outpouring  of  an  ebullient  passion 
which  is  found  in  the  letters  of  the  Portu- 
guese nun.  Arguments  are  rounded  with 
quotations  from  classic  writers ;  dialectical 
forms  are  introduced  here  and  there ;  a  care 


for  literary  manner  and  construction  of  the 
Latin  periods  is  manifested.  Bayle  says  her 
Latin  is  '*  too  frequently  pedantic  and  sub- 
tile." It  is,  at  all  events,  much  superior  to 
the  average  Latinity  of  the  time,  though,  as 
in  the  case  of  Abelard,  the  characteristic 
defects  of  this  are  not  entirely  avoided. 

Some  day,  then,  after  his  Story  had 
gone  forth  on  its  peaceful  mission  into 
France,  Abelard  received  a  folded  parchment 
in  the  once  familiar  hand. 

''  To  her  lord,  yea  father ;  to  her  spouse, 
yea  brother ;  from  his  servant,  yea  daughter 
— his  wife,  his  sister ;  to  Abelard  from 
Heloise." 

So  ran  the  superscription,  a  curious  effort 
to  breathe  life  into  a  formality  of  the  day. 
Chance  has  brought  to  their  abbey,  she 
says,  a  copy  of  the  letter  he  has  recently 
sent  forth.  The  story  of  his  saddened  life 
and  of  the  dangers  that  yet  multiply  about 
him  has  affected  them  so  deeply  that  they 
are  filled  with  anxiety  for  him. 

**  In  hourly  anguish  do  our  trembling  hearts  and 
heaving  breasts  await  the  dread  rumour  of  thy  death. 


268 


Peter  Abelard 


By  Him  who  still  extends  to  thee  an  uncertain  pro- 
tection we  implore  thee  to  inform  us,  His  servants 
and  thine,  by  frequent  letter,  of  the  course  of  the 
storms  in  which  thou  art  still  tossed  ;  so  that  thou 
mayst  let  us  at  least,  who  have  remained  true  to  thee, 
share  thy  sorrow  or  thy  joy.  And  if  the  storm  shall 
have  abated  somewhat,  so  much  the  more  speedily 
do  thou  send  us  an  epistle  which  will  bring  so  much 
joy  to  us." 

She  invokes  the  authority  of  Seneca  on  the 
epistolary  duties  of  friends,  and  she  has  a 
holier  claim  than  that  of  friend,  a  stronger 
one  than  that  of  wife. 

"At  thy  command  I  would  change,  not  merely  my 
costume,  but  my  very  soul,  so  entirely  art  thou  the 
sole  possessor  of  my  body  and  my  spirit.  Never, 
God  is  my  witness,  never  have  I  sought  anything  in 
thee  but  thyself ;  1  have  sought  thee,  not  thy  gifts. 
I  have  not  looked  to  the  marriage  bond  or  dowry ; 
I  have  not  even  yearned  to  satisfy  my  own  will  and 
pleasure,  but  thine,  as  thou  well  knowest.  The 
name  of  wife  may  be  the  holier  and  more  approved, 
but  the  name  of  friend — nay,  mistress  or  concubine, 
if  thou  wilt  suffer  it— has  always  been  the  sweeter 
to  me.  For  in  thus  humbling  myself  for  thee,  I  should 
win  greater  favour  from  thee,  and  do  less  injury  to 
thy  greatness.  This  thou  hast  thyself  not  wholly 
forgotten,  in  the  aforesaid  letter  thou  hast  written  for 
the  consolation  of  a  friend.  Therein  also  thou  hast 
related  some  of  the  arguments  with  which  I  essayed 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    269 

to  turn  thee  from  the  thought  of  our  unhappy  wed- 
lock, though  thou  hast  omitted  many  in  which  I  set 
forth  the  advantage  of  love  over  matrimony,  freedom 
over  bondage.  God  is  my  witness  that  if  Augustus, 
the  emperor  of  the  whole  world,  were  to  honour  me 
with  the  thought  of  wedlock,  and  yield  me  the 
empire  of  the  universe,  I  should  deem  it  more 
precious  and  more  honourable  to  be  thy  mistress  than 
to  be  the  queen  of  a  Caesar." 

She  claims  no  merit  for  her  devotion. 
Ab^lard's  greatness  more  than  justifies  her 
seeming  extravagance.  ''  Who,"  she  asks, 
going  back  to  his  golden  age, 

**who  did  not  hasten  forth  to  look  as  thou  didst 
walk  abroad,  or  did  not  follow  thee  with  out- 
stretched neck  and  staring  eyes  ?  What  wife, 
what  maid,  did  not  yearn  for  thee?  What  queen 
or  noble  dame  was  there  who  did  not  envy  my 
fortune  ?  " 

Yet  she  would  ask  this  measure  of  grati- 
tude from  him,  that  he  write  to  her  at 
times.  He  had  never  known  refusal  from 
her. 

**  It  was  not  religious  fervour  that  drew  me  to  the 
rigour  of  the  conventual  life,  but  thy  command. 
How  fruitlessly  have  1  obeyed,  if  this  gives  me  no 
title  to  thy  gratitude  !    .     .    .     When  thou  didst 


270 


Peter  Ab^lard 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    271 


fii 


P|i 


hasten  to  dedicate  thyself  to  God,  I  followed  thee— 
nay,  I  went  before  thee.  For,  as  if  mindful  of  the 
looking  back  of  Lot's  wife,  thou  didst  devote  me 
to  God  before  thyself,  by  the  sacred  habit  and  vows 
of  the  monastery.  Indeed,  it  was  in  this  sole  cir- 
cumstance that  I  had  the  sorrow  and  the  shame  of 
noting  thy  lack  of  confidence  in  me.  God  knows 
that  I  should  not  have  hesitated  a  moment  to  go 
before  or  to  follow  thee  to  the  very  gates  of  hell, 
hadst  thou  commanded  it.  My  soul  was  not  my 
own  but  thine." 

Let  him,  therefore,  make  this  small  return 
of  a  letter  to  relieve  her  anxiety. 

**  In  earlier  days,  when  thou  didst  seek  worldly 
pleasure  with  me,  thy  letters  were  frequent  enough  ; 
thy  songs  put  the  name  of  Heloise  on  every  lip.' 
Every  street,  every  house  in  the  city,  echoed  with  my 
name.  How  juster  would  it  be  to  lead  me  now  to 
God  than  thou  then  didst  to  pleasure  !  Think  then,  I 
beseech  thee,  how  much  thou  owest  me.  With  this 
brief  conclusion  I  terminate  my  long  letter.  Farewell 
beloved. "  ' 

It  is  small  wonder  that  the  epistle  placed 
Abelard  in  some  perplexity.  True,  the  de- 
voted  Heloise  had  spoken  throughout  in  the 
past  tense.  But  the  ardour  and  the  violence 
of  her  phrases  betrayed  a  present  depth  of 
emotion  which  he  must  regard  with  some 


dismay.  He  had  trusted  that  time  and  dis- 
cipline would  subdue  the  flame  he  had  en- 
kindled, and  here  it  was  indirectly  revealed 
to  live  still  in  wondrous  strength.  He  could 
not  refuse  to  write,  nor  indeed  would  such  a 
neglect  profit  anything  ;  but  he  would  send 
her  a  long  letter  of  spiritual  direction,  and 
endeavour  to  divert  her  mediations. 

''To  Heloise,  his  sister  in  Christ,  from 
Abelard,  her  brother  in  Him,"  was  the  char- 
acteristic opening  of  his  reply.  If  he  has 
not  written  to  her  since  her  conversion,  he 
says,  it  is  not  from  neglect  nor  want  of  affec- 
tion, but  from  the  thought  that  she  needed 
neither  counsel  nor  consolation.  She  had 
been  prioress  at  Argenteuil,  the  consoler  and 
instructor  of  others.  Yet,  'Mf  it  seems 
otherwise  to  thy  humility/'  he  will  certainly 
write  her  on  any  point  she  may  suggest. 
She  has  spoken  of  prayer,  and  so  he  diverges 
into  a  long  dissertation  on  the  excellence  of 
prayer,  which  fills  nearly  the  whole  of  his 
pages.  On  one  or  two  occasions  only  does 
he  approach  that  colloquy  of  soul  to  soul, 
for  which  Heloise  yearned  so  ardently. 


^■StWr^".*!*  "^N>^* 


272 


Peter  Abelard 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    273 


'I 


**We  ourselves  are  united  not  only  by  the  sanctity 
of  our  oath,  but  also  by  the  identity  of  our  religious 
profession.  I  will  pass  over  your  holy  community, 
in  which  the  prayers  of  so  many  virgins  and  widows 
ever  mount  up  to  God,  and  speak  of  thee  thyself, 
whose  holiness  hath  much  favour  with  God,  I  doubt 
not,  and  remind  thee  what  thou  owest  me,  particularly 
in  this  grievous  peril  of  mine.  Do  thou  remember, 
then,  in  thy  prayers  him  who  is  so  specially  thine 
own." 

And  when  at  length  he  nears  the  end  of  his 
edifying  treatise,  he  once  more  bares  the 
heart  that  still  beats  within.  If,  he  says, 
they  hear  before  long  that  he  has  fallen  a 
victim  to  the  plots  of  his  enemies,  or  has  by 
some  other  chance  laid  down  his  burden  of 
sorrow,  he  trusts  they  will  have  his  body 
brought  to  rest  in  their  home,  his  own  dear 
Paraclete,  ''for  there  is  no  safer  and  more 
blessed  spot  for  the  rest  of  a  sorrowing 
soul." 

The  long  letter  is,  on  the  whole,  prudent 
and  formal  to  a  degree.  Yet,  it  is  not  true 
that  Abelard  had  nothing  but  coldness  and 
prudence  to  return  to  his  wife's  devotion. 
It  is  quite  obvious  what  Abelard  would  con- 
ceive to  be  his  duty  in  replying  to  Heloise. 


For  her  sake  and  for  his,  for  her  happiness 
and  his  repute,  he  must  moderate  the  threat- 
ening fire.  But  that  he  had  a  true  affection 
and  sympathy  for  her  is  made  clear  by  the 
occasional  failure  of  his  pious  resolution. 
*' Sister,  who  wert  once  dear  to  me  in  the 
world,  and  art  now  most  dear  in  Christ,"  he 
once  exclaims  parenthetically  ;  and  at  other 
moments  he  calls  her  *'  dearest  sister,"  and 
even  ''beloved."  When  we  remember  the 
gulf  that  now  separated  them,  besides  his 
obvious  duty  to  guide  her,  we  shall  accept 
the  contrast  of  their  letters  without  using 
harsh  words  of  the  distracted  abbot.  But 
the  pathos  and  the  humanity  of  his  closing 
paragraph  defeated  his  purpose,  and  the 
whole  soul  of  the  abbess  flames  forth  in  her 
reply. 

It  opens  with  a  calm  and  somewhat  arti- 
ficial quarrel  with  the  superscription  of  his 
letter,  but  soon  breaks  out  into  strong  re- 
proach for  his  talk  of  death.  "How  hast 
thou  been  able  to  frame  such  thoughts, 
dearest  ?  "  she  asks  ;  "  how  hast  thou  found 
words  to  convey  them  ?  "     "  Spare  me, 


274 


Peter  Ab61ard 


'I 


beloved/'  she  says  again  ;  ''  talk  not  of  death 
until  the  dread  angel  comes  near."  More- 
over, she  and  her  nuns  would  be  too  dis- 
tracted with  grief  to  pray  over  his  corpse. 
Seneca  and  Lucan  are  quoted  to  support 
her.  Indeed,  she  soon  lapses  into  words 
which  the  theologian  would  call  blas- 
phemous. She  turns  her  face  to  the  heavens 
with  that  old,  old  cry,  Where  is  Thy  boasted 
justice  ?  They  were  untouched  in  the  days 
of  their  sinful  joy,  but  smitten  with  a  thou- 
sand sorrows  as  soon  as  their  bed  had  the 
sacramental  blessing.  ''Oh,  if  I  dared  but 
call  God  cruel  to  me  !  Oh,  most  wretched 
of  all  creatures  that  I  am  ! "  Women  have 
ever  been  the  ruin  of  men— Adam,  Solomon, 
Samson,  Job— she  runs  through  the  long 
category  of  man's  sneaking  accusations. 

She  wishes  she  could  make  satisfaction  to 
God  for  her  sin,  but  'Mf  I  must  confess  the 
true  infirmity  of  my  wretched  soul,  how  can 
I  appease  Him,  when  I  am  always  accusing 
Him  of  the  deepest  cruelty  for  this  afflic- 
tion ? ''  There  is  yet  a  further  depth  that 
she  must  lay  bare  to  her  father  confessor 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    275 

and  her  spouse.   How  can  there  be  question 
of  penance 

*'  when  the  mind  still  retains  the  thought  of  sinning, 
and  is  inflamed  again  with  the  old  longing  ?  So  sweet 
did  I  find  the  pleasures  of  our  loving  days,  that  1  can- 
not bring  myself  to  reject  them,  or  to  banish  them 
from  my  memory.  Wheresoever  I  go  they  thrust 
themselves  upon  my  vision,  and  enkindle  the  old  de- 
sire. Even  when  I  sleep  they  torment  me  with  their 
fancied  joy.  Even  during  the  Mass,  when  our  prayer 
should  be  purest,  the  dreadful  vision  of  those  pleasures 
so  haunts  my  soul  that  1  am  rather  taken  up  with  them 
than  with  prayer.  I  ought  to  be  lamenting  what  I 
have  done  ;  I  am  rather  lamenting  what  I  miss.  Not 
only  our  actions,  but  the  places  and  the  times  are  so 
bound  up  with  the  thought  of  thee  in  my  mind, 
that  night  and  day  1  am  repeating  all  with  thee  in 
spirit.  The  movement  of  body  reveals  my  thoughts 
at  times  ;  they  are  betrayed  in  unguarded  speech. 
Oh,  woe  is  me  !  .  .  .  Not  knowing  my  hypoc- 
risy, people  call  me  *  chaste.'  They  deem  bodily  in- 
tegrity a  virtue,  whereas  virtue  resides  in  the  mind, 
not  the  body." 

Moreover,  virtue  should  be  practised  out  of 
love  for  God,  whereas  ''  God  knows  that  in 
every  part  of  my  life  I  have  more  dread  of 
offending  thee  than  Him  ;  I  have  a  greater 
desire  to  please  thee  than  Him."  Let  him 
not  deceive  himself  with  trust  in  her  prayers, 
but  rather  help  her  to  overcome   herself. 


276 


Peter  Ab^lard 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    277 


I 


I 


And  the  poor  woman,  the  nobility  of  her 
soul  hidden  from  her  and  crushed  under  the 
appalling  ethical  ignorance  and  perverse 
ordering  of  her  times,  ends  with  a  plaintive 
hope  that  she  may  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  find 
some  corner  in  heaven  that  will  save  her 
from  the  abyss. 

We  have  here  the  passages  which  have 
made  Heloise  an  heroine  in  erotic  circles  for 
so  many  centuries.  On  these  words,  iso- 
lated from  their  context  of  religious  horror 
and  self-accusation,  have  Bussy-Rabutin, 
and  Pope,  and  the  rest,  erected  their  gaudy 
structures  ;  on  them  is  grounded  the  parallel 
with  Marianne  Alcoforado^  and  Rousseau's 
Julie,  and  so  many  other  women  who  have 
meditated  sin.  Bayle  has  carried  his  Pyr- 
rhonism so  far  as  to  doubt  that  *'  bodily  in- 
tegrity ''  which  she  claims  for  herself  with 
so  little  boasting ;  Chateaubriand,  with 
broader  and  truer  judgment,  finds  in  the 
letter  the  mirroring  of  the  soul  of  a  good 
woman. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  optim- 
ism of  Chateaubriand  has  for   once  come 


nearer  to  the  truth  than  the  cynicism  of 
Bayle.  The  decadent  admirers  of  Heloise 
forget  three  circumstances  which  should 
have  diminished  their  equivocal  adoration  ; 
the  letter  is  from  a  wife  to  her  husband, 
from  a  penitent  to  her  spiritual  guide  — 
women  say  such  things  every  day  in  the 
confessional,  even  in  this  very  sensitive  age 
— from  a  thoughtful  woman  to  a  man  whom 
she  knew  to  be  dead  to  every  breath  of  sen- 
sual love.  There  is  no  parallel  to  such  a 
situation. 

Further,  it  is  now  obvious  that  the  roman- 
cists  have  done  injustice  to  the  soul  of 
Heloise  in  their  isolation  of  her  impassioned 
phrases.  She  objectifies  her  love  ;  she  is 
not  wholly  merged  in  it.  She  never  loses 
sight  of  its  true  position  in  her  actual  life.  It 
is  an  evil,  a  temptation,  a  torment— she 
would  be  free  from  it.  Yet  she  is  too  rational 
a  thinker  to  turn  to  the  easy  theory  of  an 
outward  tempter.  It  is  part  of  herself,  a 
true  outgrowth  of  the  nature  God  has  given 
her ;  and  between  the  voice  of  nature  and 
the  voice  of  conscience,  complicated  by  the 


M 


278 


Peter  Abdlard 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise   279 


influence  of  conventual  tradition  and  written 
law,  her  soul  is  rent  with  a  terrific  struggle. 
A  modern  confessor  with  a  knowledge  of 
physiology  —  there  are  a  few  such  — could 
have  led  her  into  paths  of  peace  without 
difficulty.    There  was  no  sin  in  her. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  that  Abelard  sails 
faultlessly  through  these  troubled  waters, 
but  his  answer  to  her  on  this  point  is  true 
and  sound  in  substance.  ''  God  grant  that 
it  be  so  in  thy  soul  as  thou  hast  written," 
he  says  in  his  next  letter.  It  is  true  that  he 
is  chiefly  regarding  her  humility,  and  that 
he  does  not  shed  the  kindly  light  of  human 
wisdom  on  her  soul  which  an  earlier  Abelard 
would  have  done;  yet  we  can  imagine  what 
St.  Bernard  or  Robert  d'Arbrissel  would  have 
answered  to  such  an  outpouring.  However, 
apart  from  the  happy  moderation  of  this  re- 
ply, Ab^lard's  third  letter  only  increases  our 
sympathy  with  this  woman  who  wanders 
in  the  desert  of  the  twelfth  century  of  the 
Christian  era.  The  wild  cry  of  the  suffering 
heart  has  startled  him.  He  becomes  pain- 
fully ingenious  in  defending  Providence  and 


the  monastic  or  Buddhistic  view  of  life.  As 
to  his  death,  why  should  she  be  moved  so 
strongly  ? 

'*  If  thou  hadst  any  trust  in  the  divine  mercy  towards 
me,  the  more  grievous  the  afflictions  of  this  life  seem 
to  thee  the  more  wouldst  thou  desire  to  see  me  freed 
from  them  !  Thou  knowest  of  a  certainty  that  who- 
ever will  deliver  me  from  this  life  will  deliver  me  from 
a  heavy  penalty.  What  I  may  incur  hereafter  I  know 
not,  but  there  is  no  uncertainty  as  to  that  which  I 
escape." 

And  again,  when  he  comes  to  her  accusa- 
tions of  Providence  :  if  she  would  follow 
him  to  ''  the  home  of  Vulcan,"  why  cannot 
she  follow  him  quietly  to  heaven  ?  As  to 
her  saying  that  God  spared  them  in  their 
guilt  and  smote  them  in  their  wedded  inno- 
cence, he  denies  the  latter  point.  They  were 
not  innocent.  Did  they  not  have  conjugal 
relations  in  the  holy  nunnery  of  the  Virgin 
at  Argenteuil  ? '  Did  he  not  profanely  dress 
her  in  the  habit  of  a  nun  when  he  took  her 
secretly  to  Pallet  ?  Flushed  with  the  suc- 
cess of  his  apology  for  Providence,  the  un- 
lucky abbot  goes  from  bathos  to  bathos. 

» The  one  from  which  the  nuns  had  been  driven  "  on  account  of  the 
enormity  of  their  life. 


28o 


Peter  Ab^lard 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    281 


ijiii 


M 


H 


i 


There  was  not  merely  justice  but  love  in 
the  divine  ruling.  They  had  merited  pun- 
ishment, but  had,  '*on  the  contrary,''  been 
rescued  from  the  ''vile  and  obscene  pleas- 
ures" of  matrimony,  from  the  ''mud  and 
mire,"  and  so  forth.  His  mutilation  was  a 
skilful  operation  on  the  part  of  Providence 
"  to  remove  the  root  of  all  vice  and  sordid- 
ness  from  him,  and  make  him  fitter  for  the 
service  of  the  altar. "  "I  had  deserved  death, 
and  I  have  received  life.  Do  thou,  then, 
unite  with  me  in  thanksgiving,  my  insepar- 
able companion,  who  hast  shared  both  my 
sin  and  my  reward."  How  fortunate  it  was 
that  they  married  !  "  For  if  thou  hadst  not 
been  joined  to  me  in  matrimony,  it  might 
easily  have  happened  that  thou  wouldst 
have  remained  in  the  world  "—the  one  thing 
that  would  have  saved  her  from  utter  deso- 
lation. "Oh,  how  dread  a  loss,  how 
lamentable  an  evil  it  had  been,  if  in  the  seek- 
ing of  carnal  pleasure  thou  hadst  borne  a  few 
children  in  pain  to  the  world,  whereas  thou 
now  bearest  sp  great  a  progeny  with  joy  to 
heaven."    Agam  the  "  mud  and  mire,"  and 


the  thanksgiving.  He  even  lends  his  pen, 
in  his  spiritual  ecstasy,  to  the  writing  of  this 
fearful  calumny  against  himself:  "Christ  is 
thy  true  lover,  not  I ;  all  that  1  sought  in 
thee  was  the  satisfaction  of  my  miserable 
pleasure."  Her  passions  are,  like  the  arti- 
ficially stimulated  ones  of  the  deacons  in 
Gibbon  and  of  Robert  d'Arbrissel,  a  means 
of  martyrdom.  He  had  been  spared  all  this, 
she  had  plaintively  written;  on  the  contrary, 
he  urges,  she  will  win  more  merit  and 
reward  than  he. 

I  have  given  a  full  summary  of  the  long 
epistle,  because  its  psychological  interest  is 
great.  We  have  seen  the  gradual  transfor- 
mation of  Abelard— the  steps  in  his  "  con- 
version "  —  from  chapter  to  chapter.  This 
letter  marks  the  deepest  stage  of  his  lapse 
into  Bernardism.'  It  offers  an  almost  unpre- 
cedented contrast  to  the  Abelard  of  11 15. 
And  this  is  the  man,  I  may  be  pardoned  for 
repeating,  who  is  held  up  by  ecclesiastical 
writers  (even    such  as   Newman)  to  the 

>  At  a  later  date  one  of  the  censures  passed  by  the  doctors  of  the 
Sorbonne  on  this  classic  sinner  of  the  twelfth  century  is  that  he  finds  a 
shade  of  sin  in  legitimate  conjugal  relations. 


282 


Peter  Abelard 


ill 


blushes  of  the  ages.  Perhaps  the  age  is  not 
far  off  that  will  sincerely  blush  over  him — 
not  for  his  personal  defects. 

Heloise  was  silenced.  Whether  the  pious 
dissertation  had  really  influenced  her,  or  the 
proud  utterance  of  her  plaint  had  relieved 
her,  or  she  closed  in  upon  her  heart  after 
such  a  reply,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say. 
Her  next  letter  is  calm,  erudite,  dialectical. 
*'  To  her  lord  as  to  species,  her  beloved  in 
person,''  is  the  quaint  heading  of  the  epistle. 
She  will  try  to  keep  her  pen  within  due 
bounds  in  future,  but  he  knows  the  saying 
about,  "the  fulness  of  the  heart."  Never- 
theless, "just  as  a  nail  is  driven  out  by  a  new 
one,  so  it  is  with  thoughts."  He  must  help 
her  to  dwell  on  other  things.  She  and  her 
nuns  beg  him  to  write  a  new  rule  for  them, 
and  a  history  of  the  monastic  life.  There 
are  points  in  the  Rule  of  St.  Benedict  which 
are  peculiarly  masculine;  she  discusses  them 
in  early  mediaeval  style.  She  would  like 
her  nuns  to  be  permitted  to  eat  meat  and 
drink  wine.  There  is  less  danger  in  giving 
wine  to  women ;  and  she  naively  quotes 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    283 

(from  Macrobius)  Aristotle's  crude  specula- 
tion on  the  subject.    Then  follows  a  long 
dissertation    on    wine,    temperance,    and 
intemperance,  bristling   with    proofs    and 
weighty  authorities.    Briefly,  she  quarrels 
with  the  ascetic  view  of  life.    She  happily 
avoids  the  hard  sayings  in  which  Christ 
urges  it  on  every  page  of  the  Gospels,  and 
voices  the  eternal  compromise  of  human 
nature.    Who  may  become  Ab^lard's  suc- 
cessor as  their  spiritual  guide,  she  does  not 
know.    Let  him  appoint  a  rule  of  life  for 
them,  which  will  guard  them  from  unwise 
interference,  and  let  it  concede  a  little  in  the 
way  of  soft  clothing,  meat,  wine,  and  other 
suspected  commodities. 

Aboard  complies  willingly,  quite  entering 
into  the  spirit  of  the  nail  theory.  "  I  will 
make  a  brief  and  succinct  reply  to  thy  af- 
fectionate request,  dear  sister,"  he  begins, 
at  the  head  of  a  very  long  and  very  curious 
sketch  of  the  history  of  monasticism.  It  is 
a  brilliant  proof  of  Abelard's  erudition,  rela- 
tively to  his  opportunities,  but  at  the  same 
time  an  illustration  of  the  power  of  construct- 


^Ilff 


284 


Peter  Abelard 


Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise    285 


*il 


I 


ing  most  adequate  '* explanations"  without 
any  reference  to  the  real  agencies  at  work. 

In  a  later  letter  Abelard  drew  up  the  rule 
of  life  which  had  been  asked.  It  follows 
the  usual  principles  and  tendencies  of  such 
documents.  It  offers,  however,  no  little 
psychological  interest  in  connection  with 
the  modifications  which  the  abbess  has 
desired.  The  dialectician  feels  a  logical  re- 
luctance to  compromise,  and  the  fervent 
monk  cannot  willingly  write  down  half 
measures.  Yet  the  human  element  in  him 
has  a  sneaking  sympathy  with  the  plea  of 
the  abbess,  and,  with  much  explanation 
and  a  fond  acceptance  of  Aristotelic  theories, 
the  compromise  is  effected.  To  the  manu- 
script of  this  letter  a  later  hand  has  added 
a  smaller  and  more  practical  rule.  This  is 
generally  attributed  to  Heloise  herself,  and 
is  certainly  the  work  of  some  early  abbess 
of  the  Paraclete.  It  supplements  Ab^lard's 
scheme  of  principles  and  general  directions 
by  a  table  of  regulations— as  to  beds,  food, 
dress,  visitors,  scandals,  etc.— of  a  more 
detailed  character. 


The  closing  letter  of  the  famous  series  is 
one  addressed  by  Abelard  to  ''the  virgins 
of  the  Paraclete"  on  the  subject  of  '*the 
study  of  letters."  It  is  from  this  epistle 
that  we  learn— as  we  do  also  from  a  letter 
of  Venerable  Peter  of  Cluny— of  Heloise's 
linguistic  acquirements.  The  nuns  are 
urged  to  undertake  the  study  of  the  Scrip- 
tural tongues,  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew, 
and  are  reminded  that  they  have  ''  a  mother 
who  is  versed  in  these  three  languages." 
There  is  reason  to  think  that  neither  master 
nor  pupil  knew  much  Greek  or  Hebrew. 

This  is  followed  shortly  by  a  number  of 
hymns  and  sermons.  Heloise  had  asked 
him  to  write  some  hymns  for  liturgical  use, 
so  as  to  avoid  a  wearisome  repetition  and  to 
dispense  with  some  inappropriate  ones. 
He  sent  ninety-three,  but  they  are  of  little 
literary  and  poetic  value.  The  source  of 
his  old-time  poetic  faculty  is  dried  up.  A 
sequence  for  the  Feast  of  the  Annunciation, 
which  is  attributed  to  him,  won  praise 
from,  of  all  people,  Luther.  But  the  num- 
ber of  hymns  and  songs  ''attributed"  to 


w 


286 


Peter  Abdlard 


I 


Ab^lard  is  large.  The  sermons,  of  which 
thirty-four  are  to  be  found  in  the  collection  of 
his  works,  are  not  distinguished  in  their  order. 
The  abbot  was  not  an  eloquent  preacher. 
But  they  were  carefully  written,  erudite  com- 
positions, which  were  delivered  at  St.  Gildas, 
or  the  Paraclete,  or  by  special  invitation. 
Some  of  them  have  much  intrinsic  interest 
or  value— those  on  Susannah  and  John  the 
Baptist,  for  instance,  in  connection  with  mon- 
astic affairs,  and  that  on  St.  Peter  in  connec- 
tion with  his  rigid  loyalty  to  Rome. 

A  more  interesting  appendix  to  the  cor- 
respondence is  found  in  the  forty-two 
''  Problems  of  Heloise,"  with  the  replies  of 
Ab^lard.  Under  the  pretext  of  following 
out  his  direction,  but  probably  with  a 
greater  anxiety  to  prolong  the  intercourse, 
Heloise  sent  to  him  a  list  of  difficulties  she 
had  encountered  in  reading  Scripture.  The 
daughters  of  Charlemagne  had  responded 
to  Alcuin's  exhortations  with  a  similar  list. 
The  little  treatise  is  not  unworthy  of  analy- 
sis from  the  historico-theological  point  of 
view,  but  such  a  task  cannot  be  undertaken 


Letters  of  Aboard  and  Heloise    287 

here.  The  problems  are,  on  the  whole, 
those  which  have  presented  themselves  to 
every  thoughtful  man  and  woman  who  has 
approached  the  Bible  with  the  strictly  orth- 
odox view;  the  answers  are,  generally 
speaking,  the  theological  artifices  which 
served  that  purpose  down  to  the  middle  of 
the  wayward  nineteenth  century. 

With  this  mild  outbreak  of  rationalism 
Heloise  passes  out  of  the  pages  of  history, 
save  for  a  brief  reintroduction  in  Abelard's 
closing  year.    The  interest  and  the  force 
of  her  personality  have  been  undoubtedly 
exaggerated  by  some  of  the  chief  biog- 
raphers of  Ab^lard,  but  she  was  assuredly 
an  able,  remarkable,  and  singularly  graceful 
and  interesting  woman.    Cousin  once  sud- 
denly asked  in  the  middle  of  a  discourse : 
''Who  is  the  woman  whose  love  it  would 
have   been    sweetest   to   have    shared?" 
Many  names  were  suggested,  though  there 
must  have  been  a  strong  anticipation  that 
he  would  name  Mme.  de  Longueville,  for 
he  laboured  at  that  very  time  under  his 
posthumous  infatuation  for  the  sister  of 


11 


288 


Peter  Abdlard 


H 


Cond^.    But  he  answered,  "  Heloise,  that 
noble  creature  who  loved  like  a  Saint  Ther- 
esa, wrote  sometimes  like  Seneca,  and  who 
must  have  been  irresistibly  charming,  since 
she  charmed  St.  Bernard  himself."    It  was 
a  fine  phrase  to  deliver  impromptu,  but  an 
uncritical  estimate.    It  is  a  characteristic 
paradox  to  say  that  she  loved  like  a  Saint 
Theresa,  and  an  exaggeration  to  say  that 
she  ever  wrote  like  Seneca.     As  to  her 
charming  St.  Bernard— the  "pseudo-apos- 
tle," as  she  ungraciously  calls  him,— they 
who  read  the  one  brief  letter  he  wrote  her 
will  have  a  new  idea  of  a  charmed  man. 
Yet  with  her  remarkable  ability,  her  force- 
ful  and    exalted    character  in   the    most 
devitalising  circumstances,   and  her  self- 
realisation,  she  would  probably  have  writ- 
ten her  name  in  the  annals  of  France  without 
the  assistance  of  Abelard.   It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  she  had  a  very  singular  reputation 
for  her  age,  before  she  met  Abelard.    She 
might  have  been  a  Saint  Theresa  to  Peter  of 
Cluny,  or,  as  is  more  probable,  a  Montmor- 
ency in  the  political  chronicle  of  France. 


Chapter  XII 

A  Return  to  the  Arena 

THE  literary  and  personal  activity  de- 
scribed in  the  preceding  chapter,  to- 
gether with   the   elaboration    of  a   new 
"theology,"  of  which  we  shall  read  pres- 
ently, brings  the  story  of  Ab^lard's  life 
down  to   1 1 35  or   1136.    His  movements 
during  the  three  or  four  years  after  his  flight 
from  St.  Gildas  are  very  obscure.    St.  Ber- 
nard seems  to  speak  of  his  presence  in  Paris 
at  one  time,  though  the  passages  can,  and 
perhaps  should,  be  explained  away.     Hel- 
oise speaks  of  his  visits  to  the  Paraclete. 
On  the  whole,  he  probably  remained  in 
Brittany,  at  >Jantes  or  Pallet,  and  devoted 
his  time  to  literary  work.     But  in    11 36 
we  find  him  in  Paris  once  more.    Whether 
the  monks  succeeded  in  making  Brittany 
too  insecure  for  him,  or  the  count  failed  to 


19 


289 


'fit 


290 


Peter  Ab^lard 


h 


guarantee  his  income,  or  a  natural  disgust 
with  the  situation  and  longing  for  the  intel- 
lectual arena  impelled  him  to  return,  we 
cannot  say.  It  is  only  known  that  in  11 36 
he  was  once  more  quickening  the  scholas- 
tic life  of  Europe  from  the  familiar  slope  of 
Ste.  Genevieve. 

So  swift  and  eventful  has  been  the  career 
of  the  great  teacher  that  one  realises  with 
difficulty  that  he  is  now  almost  an  old  man, 
a  man  in  his  fifty-seventh  or  fifty-eighth 
year.  It  is  twenty  years  since  the  grim 
termination  of  his  early  Parisian  activity, 
and  a  new  generation  fills  the  schools.  The 
ideas  with  which  he  first  startled  and  con- 
quered the  intellectual  world  have  been 
made  familiar.  The  vigour,  the  freshness, 
the  charming  pertinacity  of  youth  have 
departed.  Yet  there  is  no  master  in  Christ- 
endom, young  or  old,  that  can  restrain  the 
flood  of  '* barbarians''  when  Li  Mestre  re- 
appears at  Paris.  John  of  Salisbury  was 
amongst  the  crowd.  It  is  from  his  Meta- 
logicus  that  we  first  learn  of  Abelard's  return 
to  the  arena,  and  the  renewal  of  his  old 


A  Return  to  the  Arena  291 

triumph.    St.  Bernard  fully  confirms  the 
story,  after  his  fashion.     Indeed,  in  one 
sense  Abelard's  triumph  was  greater  than 
ever,  for  he  gathered  a  notable  group  of 
followers   about  him   on  Ste.   Genevieve. 
There  was  Arnold  of  Brescia,  the  scourge 
of  the  Italian  clergy,  the  **  gad-fly  "  of  the 
hierarchy.    There  was  Gilbert  de  la  Porr^e, 
a  dreaded  dialectician  and  rationalistic  theo- 
logian.   There  was  Hyacinth,  the  young 
deacon  and  noble  from  Rome,  afterwards 
a  power  in  the  sacred  college.    There  was 
Berenger,  the  caustic  critic,  who  gave  Ber- 
nard many  an   unpleasant  quarter  of  an 
hour.    There  were  future  bishops  and  theo- 
logians in  remarkable  numbers. 

However,  we  have  no  information  of  a 
definite  character  until  five  years  afterwards. 
In  fact,  John  of  Salisbury  complicates  the 
situation  by  stating  that  Abelard  withdrew 
shortly  after  1136.  Deutsch  thinks  that 
Abelard  left  Paris  for  a  few  years  ;  Hausrath, 
on  the  contrary,  conjectures  that  he  merely 
changed  the  locality  of  his  school.  John  of 
Salisbury  would,  in  that  case,  have  followed 


292 


Peter  Ab^lard 


his  lectures  in  the  cloistral  school  in  1 1 36, 
and  would  have  remained  faithful  to  the 
abbey,  following  Abelard's  successor,  a 
Master  Alberic,  when  Abelard  was,  for  some 
unknown  reason,  constrained  to  move  his 
chair  to  the  chapel  of  St.  Hilary,  also  on  the 
slope  of  Ste.  Genevieve.  According  to  the 
Historia  Pontificalis  it  was  at  St.  Hilary  that 
Bernard  visited  him  in  1 141.  It  is  an  ingen- 
ious way  of  keeping  Abelard  in  Paris  during 
the  five  years,  as  most  historians  would  pre- 
fer to  do.  Its  weak  point  is  the  supposition 
that  John  of  Salisbury  would  continue  to 
attend  at  the  abbey  of  Ste.  Genevieve  with 
Abelard  teaching  a  few  yards  away. 

The  difficulty  may  be  gladly  left  to  the 
chronologist.  The  first  great  fact  in  Abe- 
lard's  career  after  his  return  to  Paris  is  that 
St.  Bernard  begins  to  take  an  active  interest 
in  his  teaching  in  the  spring  of  1 141.  Ten 
short  weeks  afterwards  the  prestige  of  the 
great  teacher  was  shattered  beyond  recall, 
and  he  set  out  upon  his  pathetic  journey  to 
the  tomb.  It  was  a  tense,  a  titanic  struggle, 
on  the  side  of  Bernard. 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


293 


According  to  the  religious  story-books  the 
episode  is  very  clear  and  highly  honourable 
to  Bernard.  Abbot  Abelard  had  rewritten, 
with  what  he  thought  to  be  emendations, 
the  theological  treatise  which  had  been 
burnt  at  Soissons.  Under  the  title  of  the 
Theologia  Christiana,  this  rationalistic  expo- 
sition and  defence  of  the  dogmas  of  the  faith, 
especially  of  the  Trinity,  had  ''crossed  the 
seas  and  leaped  over  the  Alps,"  in  Bernard's 
vivid  phraseology.  With  it  travelled  also 
an  Introductio  ad  Theologiam,  which  was 
written  soon  after  it,  and  his  Commentary  on 
the  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  of  earlier  date. 
The  books  we  have  previously  mentioned, 
the  Sic  et  Non,  and  the  Ethics  or  Know  Thy- 
self, had  a  more  limited  and  secluded  circu- 
lation. The  theological  work  which  has  the 
title  of  Epitome  Theologies  Christiance  or 
Sententice  Petri  Abcelardi  is  considered  by 
most  experts  to  be  a  collection  of  his  opin- 
ions drawn  up  by  some  other  masters  for 
scholastic  use.^ 


*  It  is^quite  beside  the  writer*s  purpose,  and  probably  the  reader's 
pleasure,  to  give  an  analysis  of  these  works.     I  shall  presently  treat 


294 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  story  runs  that  these  works  chanced 
to  intrude  on  the  pious  meditations  of  a 
mystic  theologian  of  the  name  of  William  of 
St.  Thierry.  William  was  very  nearly  a 
saint,  and  the  new  theology  shocked  him 
inexpressibly.  He  had  been  abbot  of  St. 
Thierry  at  Rheims,  but  had  been  elevated 
from  the  Benedictine  level  to  the  Cistercian 
under  Bernard's  influence,  and  was  peace- 
fully composing  a  commentary  on  the  highly 
mystical  Song  of  Songs,  in  the  Cistercian 
monastery  at  Signy,  when  Ab^lard's  heresies 
reached  him.^  In  his  horror  he  selected 
thirteen  definite  heretical  statements  from 
the  books,  and  sent  them,  with  the  treatises, 
to  his  pious  and  powerful  friend,  Bernard 
of  Clairvaux,  with  a  pressing  request  to 
examine  them  and  take  action.     Bernard 


the  specific  points  that  have  relation  to  his  condemnation,  and  I  add  a 
supplementary  chapter  on  his  teaching  in  general.  Deutsch  may  be 
read  by  the  curious,  and  Herr  Hausrath  gives  a  useful  shorter  analysis. 
^  A  good  idea  of  the  man,  and  of  the  rapidly  growing  school  he  be- 
longed to,  will  be  formed  from  the  opening  sentence  of  one  of  his 
treatises  :  "  Rotting  in  the  lake  of  misery  and  in  the  mire  of  filth,  and 
stuck  in  the  mud  of  the  abyss  that  has  no  substance,  and  from  the 
depths  of  my  grief,  1  cry  out  to  Thee,  O  Lord."  He  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  similar  Bemardesque  composition  when  he  received  Abelard's 
works. 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


295 


replied  that  a  cursory  perusal  of  the  books 
seemed  to  justify  his  follower's  zeal.    He 
would  put  the  matter  aside  until  after  Holy 
Week,  then  talk  it  over  with  William.    In 
the  meantime,  William  must  bear  patiently 
with  his  inactivity,  since  he  ''had  hitherto 
known  little  or  nothing  of  these  things." 
Easter  over,  and  the  conference  having  pre- 
sumably taken   place,   Bernard  was  con- 
vinced  of  Abelard's    errors.     Faithful   to 
Christ's  direction,  he  went  up  to  Paris,  and 
personally  reproved  his  erring  brother,  with- 
out witnesses.    Bernard's  biographer  (and 
secretary-monk)  assures  that  Abelard  prom- 
ised to  amend  his  ways.    The  amendment 
not  taking  place,  Bernard  paid  him  a  second 
brotherly  visit,  and,  as  he  refused  to  comply, 
Bernard  followed  out  the  evangelical  direc- 
tion of  reproving  him  before  others.    He  at- 
tacked him  in  the  presence  of  his  students, 
warning  the  latter  that  they  must  burn  his 
heretical  writings  forthwith.    It  is  one  of  the 
scenes  in  Abelard's  career  which  it  would 
have  been  interesting  to  have  witnessed. 
However,  we  must  defer  for  a  moment 


296 


Peter  Abelard 


the  continuation  of  the  Bernardist  version  of 
the  encounter,  and  examine  the  course  of 
events  more  critically. 

The  theory  that  St.  Bernard  had  not  occu- 
pied himself  with  the  errors  of  Abelard,  until 
William  of  St.  Thierry  drew  his  attention  to 
them,  is  a  very  poor  and  foolish  composition. 
We  could  as  well  imagine  that  Newman 
knew  ''little  or  nothing"  of  Dr.  Arnold's 
views  in  the  early  thirties.  Bernard  and 
AWlard  had  been  for  many  years  the  su- 
preme representatives  of  the  new  ''High" 
and  "Broad"  movements  of  the  twelfth 
century  ;  and  Bernard  had  a  far  more  intense 
dread  of  rationalism  than  Newman.  Scarcely 
an  event  of  moderate  importance  occurred 
in  Church,  school,  or  state,  in  France  at 
least,  that  escaped  the  eye  of  the  Abbot  of 
Clairvaux  in  those  days.  He  was  "  acting- 
Pope  "  to  the  Church  of  Christ,  and  he  felt 
all  the  responsibility.  And,  amongst  the 
multitudinous  cares  of  his  office,  none  gave 
him  greater  concern  than  the  purity  of  the 
faith  and  the  purification  of  the  disquieting 
scholastic  activity  of  the  day. 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


297 


We  have  seen,  in  a  former  chapter,  how 
largely  antithetic  his  position  was  to  that  of 
Abelard,  and  that  he  was  a  man  who  could 
not  doubt  for  a  moment  the  truth  of  his  own 
conception  of  religion.    There  was  the  same 
marked  antithesis  at  the  very  bases  of  their 
theological  conceptions,  in  the  mental  soil 
in  which  those  conceptions  took  root.    Ber- 
nard was  more  authoritative  than  Anselm 
of  Laon,  more  mystic  than  Anselm  of  Can- 
terbury.   He  had  gone  further  than  Anselm 
on  the  theory  that  "  faith  precedes  reason  "  ; 
Abelard  had  gone  beyond  Roscelin  with  the 
inverse    proposition.      Perhaps    Bernard's 
commentary  on  the   Song  of  Songs   fur- 
nishes the  best  illustration  of  his  frame  of 
mind  and  his  outlook.    Towards  the  close 
of  his  life  he  devoted  himself  to  long  and 
profound  meditation  on  that  beautiful  piece 
of  Oriental  literature.    We  must  not  forget, 
of  course,  that  the  Church  is  largely  respon- 
sible for  his  extravagance  on  this  point.    It 
has  indeed  taken  the  civilisation  of  the  West 
more  than  two  thousand  years  to  discover 
that  its  glowing  verses  are  inspired  only  by 


298 


Peter  Ab^lard 


the  rounded  limbs  and  sweet  breath  of  a 
beautiful  woman  ;  and  its  most  erotic  pas- 
sages are  still  solemnly  applied  to  the 
Mother  of  Christ  on  her  annual  festivals. 
But  Bernard  revelled  in  its  ''mystic" 
phrases.  Day  by  day,  for  more  than  a  year, 
he  gathered  his  monks  about  him  in  the 
auditorium  at  Clairvaux,  and  expounded  to 
them  the  profound  spiritual  meanings  of  the 
Song.  Eighty-three  long  sermons  barely 
exhausted  the  first  two  chapters.  In  the 
end  he  devoted  three  lengthy  discourses,  on 
successive  days,  to  the  elucidation  of  the 
words  :  ''  In  my  bed  at  night  1  have  longed 
for  him  whom  my  soul  loveth." 

This  mystic  and  unreasoning  attitude 
brought  him  into  fundamental  antagonism 
with  Abelard.  To  him,  faith  was  the  souFs 
first  duty  ;  reason  might  think  itself  fortu- 
nate if  there  were  crumbs  of  knowledge  in 
the  accepted  writings  which  it  could  digest. 
To  reason,  to  ask  a  question,  was  honestly 
incomprehensible  and  abhorrent  to  him. 
He  insisted  that  the  rationalist  told  God  he 
would  not  accept  what  he  could  not  under- 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


299 


stand  ;  whereas  the  rationalist  was  pre- 
vented by  his  own  logic  from  questioning 
the  veracity  of  the  Infinite,  and  merely  in- 
sisted that,  in  a  world  of  hallucination  and 
false  pretence,  it  were  well  to  make  sure 
that  the  proposition  in  question  really  did 
come  from  God.  Bernard  thought  reason- 
ing about  the  Trinity  implied  irreverence  or 
incredulity  ;  Abelard  felt  it  to  be  a  high  ser- 
vice to  divine  truth,  in  preparing  it  for 
minds  which  were  not  blessed  with  the 
mystic  sense.  Bernard  believed  Christ  died 
purely  and  crudely  to  make  amends  to  the 
Father ;  Abelard  thought  this  would  impute 
vindictiveness  to  God.  And  so  on  through 
a  long  list  of  dogmatic  points  which  were  of 
unspeakable  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the 
twelfth  century. 

A  conflict  was  inevitable.  In  Bernard's 
thought,  Abelard  was  employing  an  extraor- 
dinary ability  to  the  grave  prejudice  of  the 
honour  of  God,  the  safety  of  the  Church, 
and  the  supreme  interest  of  humanity.  Ber- 
nard would  have  deserted  his  principles  and 
his  clear  subjective  duty  if  he  had  remained 


300 


Peter  Ab^lard 


silent.  If  he  had  ''a  quick  ear"  to  catch 
''  the  distant  thunder  roll  of  free  inquiry,''  as 
Cotter  Morison  says,  and  no  one  questions, 
he  must  have  turned  his  zealous  attention 
to  Ab^lard  long  ago,  as  we  have  already 
seen.  But  the  rationalist  had  been  rendered 
powerless  in  Brittany  for  some  years.  Now 
that  he  was  teaching  with  great  effective- 
ness at  Paris  once  more,  Bernard  could  not 
but  take  action. 

However,  it  is  a  task  of  extreme  difficulty 
for  an  impartial  student  to  trace  with  confi- 
dence the  early  stages  of  that  memorable 
conflict.  We  have  seen  the  Bernardist  ver- 
sion ;  the  version  of  some  of  the  recent 
biographers  of  Abelard  is  very  different. 
Deutsch  and  Hausrath,  able  and  critical 
scholars,  believe  that  the  letter  from  William 
of  St.  Thierry  had  been  written,  wholly  or 
in  part,  by  Bernard  himself;  that  Bernard's 
reply  was  a  part  of  the  comedy  of  intrigue  ; 
that  a  timid  and  treacherous  conventicle  of 
the  Cistercian  monks,  including  Bernard, 
had  deliberately  drawn  up  in  advance  this 
equivocal  plan  of  campaign.    Now,  if  the 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


301 


Catholic  enthusiast  is  incapable  of  dealing 
quite  impartially  with  such  a  problem,  it  is 
equally  certain  that  the  heretic  has  a  similar 
disturbing  element  in  his  natural  predilec- 
tion for  picking  holes  in  the  coats  of  the 
canonised.  The  evidence  must  be  exam- 
ined very  carefully.  The  presumption  is 
that  a  man  of  the  exalted  idealism  and  stern 
self-discipline  of  St.  Bernard  would  not  lend 
himself  to  such  manoeuvres.  Yet  these 
things  are  not  inconsistent  with  the  dignity 
of  canonisation  ;  moreover,  the  object  was 
a  great  and  holy  one— and  Bernard  had  a 
mortal  dread  of  the  dialectician. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  it  is  impossible  to 
credit  Bernard  with  the  whole  of  the  let- 
ter which  bears  the  name  of  William  of  St. 
Thierry.  Much  of  it  is  by  no  means  Ber- 
nardesque  in  style  and  manner ;  and  there 
are  passages  which  it  is  quite  impossible,  on 
moral  grounds,  to  conceive  as  having  been 
written  by  Bernard  himself.  At  the  same 
time,  much  of  it  does  certainly  seem  to  have 
been  written  by  Bernard.  There  are  few 
better  judges  of  such  a  point  than  Deutsch. 


302 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  contention  that  William  would  not 
have  dared  to  address  such  a  demand 
simultaneously  to  Bernard  and  Geoffrey, 
without  instructions,  is  more  precarious. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  letter  seems  in 
many  respects  to  support  the  idea  of  a  dip- 
lomatic arrangement.  It  is  addressed  to 
Bernard  and  Geoffrey  of  Chartres,  and  opens 
as  follows:  ''God  knows  that  I  am  filled 
with  confusion,  my  lords  and  fathers,  when 
I  am  constrained  to  address  you,  insignifi- 
cant as  1  am,  on  a  matter  of  grave  urgency, 
since  you  and  others  whose  duty  it  is  to 
speak  remain  silent."  After  a  little  of  this 
strain  he  recounts  how  he  'Mately  chanced 
to  read  a  certain  work"  of  the  dreadful 
heretic  he  has  named— the  Theology  of  Peter 
AUlard.  From  it  he  selects  thirteen  heret- 
ical propositions  (we  shall  meet  them  later), 
which  he  submits  to  their  judgment.  If 
they  also  condemn,  he  calls  for  prompt  and 
effective  action.  ''God  knows  that  I  too 
have  loved  him"  [Abelard],  he  says,  "and 
would  remain  in  charity  with  him,  but  in 
such  a  cause  as  this  I  know  no  friend  or 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


303 


acquaintance."  Finally,  he  says:  "There 
are,  I  am  told,  other  works  of  his,  the  Sic  et 
Non  and  the  Scito  te  Ipsum,  and  others  .  .  . 
but  I  am  told  that  they  shun  the  light,  and 
cannot  be  found." 

Without  straining  an  impressionist  argu- 
ment, it  may  be  at  once  pointed  out  that 
the  letter  betrays  itself.  Several  of  the 
propositions  in  the  list  are  not  found  in 
either  of  Ab^lard's  theologies ;  they  are 
taken  from  the  works  which  William  affirms 
he  has  never  seen.  An  intrigue  is  revealed  ; 
some  other  person,  not  at  Signy,  has  had 
an  important  share  in  the  epistle,  if  not  in 
the  actual  writing  of  it.  Again,  as  Neander 
says  in  his  Life  of  St,  Bernard,  the  passage 
about  his  affection  cannot  be  taken  seri- 
ously ;  he  had  been  passionately  devoted 
to  Bernard  for  some  years.  The  letter  is 
evidently  written  for  use  or  publication, 
and  reveals  a  curious  piece  of  acting. 

Bernard's  reply  is  also  clearly  "  part  of  the 
comedy,"  as  Hausrath  says.  Bernard  is 
much  addicted  to  tutoyer  his  friends,^  even 

*  Witness  his  genial  letter  to  our  English  Mathilda. 


304 


Peter  Abelard 


his  lady  friends.  His  previous  letters  to 
William,  written  before  he  was  a  ''son  in 
religion  "  and  a  devoted  follower,  are  written 
in  that  familiar  style.  But  in  this  brief  note 
*'thou''  and  ''thine"  become  "you"  and 
"your." 

**I  consider  your  action  both  just  and  necessary. 
The  book  itself,  betraying  the  mouth  of  those  that 
speak  iniquity,  proves  that  it  was  not  idle.  .  .  . 
But  since  1  am  not  accustomed,  as  you  know  well, 
to  trust  my  own  judgment,  especially  in  matters  of 
such  moment,  it  must  wait  a  little." 

He  will  see  William  about  it  after  Easter. 
"  In  the  meantime  be  not   impatient   of 

my  silence  and  forbearance  in  these  mat- 
ters ;  most  of  them,  indeed  nearly  all  ot 
them,  were  not  known  to  me  before  (cum 
horum  plurima  et  pene  omnia  hucusque 
nescierimj/' 

The  letter  is  almost  incomprehensible, 
coming  from  such  a  man.  He  take  the 
first  discovery  of  so  influential  a  heretic  so 
calmly ;  he  not  trust  his  own  judgment  in 
such  matters !  Save  for  the  literary  form, 
which  is  unmistakable,  the  letter  is  wholly 
out  of  place  in  the  bulky  volume  of  Bernard's 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


305 


correspondence.  It  is  part  of  the  play  ;  and 
its  brevity  and  vagueness  seem  to  indicate 
an  unwillingness  or  ethical  discomfort  on 
the  part  of  the  writer. 

The  closing  sentence  in  it  has  given 
trouble  even  to  Bernard's  biographers,  and 
must  disconcert  every  admirer  of  the  great 
uplifter  of  the  twelfth  century.  Cotter 
Morison  says  "he  must  refer  to  the  special 
details,"  of  Abelard's  teaching.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  acquit  the  words  of  the  charge  of 
evasiveness  and  a  half-conscious  inaccuracy, 
even  if  they  be  so  interpreted.  We  have 
already  given  the  general  considerations 
which  compel  us  to  think  Bernard  made  him- 
self fully  acquainted  with  Abelard's  opinions. 
We  have  already  discussed  the  probability 
of  his  share  in  the  driving  of  Abelard  into 
Brittany.  Other  indications  are  not  want- 
ing. In  II 32,  Bernard  was  sent  on  a  papal 
mission  into  Burgundy  ;  his  companion  was 
Joscelin,  Abelard's  early  rival.  Bernard 
attacks  with  some  spirit  the  errors  of  an 
unnamed  master  in  his  Treatise  on  Baptism ; 
these  errors  are  the  opinions  of  Abelard. 


3o6 


Peter  Ab^lard 


On  one  occasion,  indeed,  they  had  a  direct 
controversy.  Bernard  had  visited  the  Para- 
clete, and  had  criticised  the  way  in  v^hich 
the  nuns,  following  Abelard's  direction, 
recited  the  Lord's  Prayer.  Ab^lard  had 
inserted  '*  supersubstantial  "  for  ''daily." 
Heloise  duly  reported  the  criticism,  and 
Abelard  flew  to  arms.  The  letter  was  char- 
acteristic. A  sweet  and  genial  prelude,  a 
crushing  argumentative  onslaught,  and  an 
ironical  inversion  of  the  charge.  **  But  let 
each  do  as  he  pleases,"  the  rhetorician  con- 
cluded ;  *M  do  not  wish  to  persuade  any 
man  to  follow  me  in  this.  He  may  change 
the  words  of  Christ  as  he  likes." 

However,  we  need  not  strain  detailed 
indications.  It  is  impossible  to  think  that 
Bernard  was  unacquainted  with  ''  novelties  " 
that  the  echo  of  a  great  name  had  borne  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth. ^  When  we  have 
seen  the  whole  story  of  Bernard's  share  in 
the  struggle,  it  will  be  easier  to  understand 
this  letter.    It  is  puerile  to  think  that  we 

*  Fas  est  et  ah  hoste  doceri.  The  Benedictine  defenders  of  Bernard 
(in  Migne)  say,  in  another  connection  :  "  Was  there  a  single  cardinal 
or  cleric  in  Rome  who  was  unacquainted  with  his  dogmas  ?  " , 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


307 


detract  anything  from  the  moral  and  spiritual 
greatness  of  St.  Bernard  in  admitting  an 
occasional  approach  to  the  common  level 
of  humanity.  And  there  was  present  in 
strength  that  delusive  ideal  which  has  led 
so  many  good  men  into  fields  that  were 
foreign  to  their  native  grandeur— the  good 
of  the  Church. 

There  is  no  record  of  a  conference  with 
William  of  St.  Thierry  after  Easter.  The 
pupil  has  played  his  part,  and  he  now 
vanishes  completely  from  the  theatre.  But 
from  the  subsequent  report  which  was  sent 
.  to  the  Pope,  and  from  the  Life  of  St.  Bernard, 
written  by  his  admiring  secretary,  we  learn 
that  Bernard  visited  Abelard  in  private,  and 
admonished  him  of  his  errors.  The  scene 
is  unfortunately  left  to  the  imagination  ; 
though  the  report  we  have  mentioned 
speaks  of  a  ''  friendly  and  familiar  admoni- 
tion." Bernard's  biographer  would  have  us 
believe  that  Abelard  was  quite  subdued— 
the  *' rhinoceros"  was  tamed  again— by 
Bernard's  brotherly  address,  and  promised  to 
retract  his  errors.   It  is  possible  that  Abelard 


3o8 


Peter  Abelard 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


309 


m 


put  him  off  with  amiable  generalities,  but 
quite  incredible  that  he  made  any  such 
promise.  We  need  not  speculate,  with 
Hausrath,  on  the  probability  of  interference 
from  his  more  ardent  students.  The  epis- 
copal report  to  the  Pope  does  not  mention 
any  broken  promise.  It  could  have  used 
such  a  circumstance  with  great  effect. 

Then  followed  Bernard's  second  visit  and 
warning.  It  would  be  difficult  to  say  which 
dreaded  the  other  more  in  these  curious  in- 
terviews, but  Bernard  had  convinced  him- 
self of  his  duty  to  crush  Abelard,  and  he  was 
following  out  a  very  correct  and  excellently- 
devised  scheme.  The  Gospel  required  a 
twofold  personal  correction  of  an  erring 
brother,  before  he  was  denounced  to  the 
synagogue.  The  second  one  was  to  have 
witnesses.  Bernard  therefore  boldly  ad- 
monished Abelard  in  the  presence  of  his 
students,  and  bade  them  burn  the  works  of 
their  master.  It  is  a  thousand  pities  we  have 
no  Abelardist  record  of  these  proceedings. 

If  Abelard  said  little  during  the  con- 
ferences, he  must  have  known  that  he  was 


rapidly  approaching  another,  perhaps  a  su- 
preme, crisis  in  his  life.  He  knew  his  Gos- 
pel, and  he  knew  Bernard.  The  next  step 
was  the  denunciation  to  the  synagogue. 
He  had  had  an  experience  of  such  denunci- 
ation, and  he  would  certainly  not  expect  a 
less  insidious  attack  from  the  Abbot  of  Clair- 
vaux,  who  had  avoided  his  dialectical  skill 
so  long.  He  determined  to  checkmate  the 
Cistercians.  Very  shortly  afterwards  Ber- 
nard was  dismayed  to  receive  a  letter  from 
the  Archbishop  of  Sens,  in  which  he  was 
invited  to  meet  the  redoubtable  dialectician 
at  Sens  in  a  few  weeks'  time,  and  discuss 
the  right  and  wrong  of  their  quarrel  before 
the  whole  spiritual  and  temporal  nobility  of 
France. 

It  was  now  a  question  of  dialectics  and 
rhetoric  versus  diplomacy ;  though  indeed 
we  must  credit  Abelard— or  his  "  esquire," 
as  Bernard  calls  Arnold  of  Brescia — with  a 
fine  diplomatic  move  in  claiming  the  discus- 
sion. There  are  several  reasons  for  thinking 
that  the  Bishop  of  Paris  was  in  Rome  at  the 
time,  or  the  discussion  should  have  been 


iii 


310 


Peter  Ab^lard 


sought  at  Notre  Dame.  The  next  instantia 
was  the  Archbishop  of  Sens,  and  Ab^lard 
continued  to  assail  that  prelate  until  he  was 
forced  to  accept  the  petition.  Not  improba- 
bly it  appealed  to  the  sporting  instinct  of  old 
'*  Henry  the  Boar,"  a  man  of  noble  extrac- 
tion, and  of  extremely  worldly  life  before  he 
fell  under  the  influence  of  the  ubiquitous 
Bernard.  The  quarrel  of  the  two  great 
luminaries  of  France  was  now  notorious. 
He  could  not  well  refuse  to  open  the  lists 
for  a  superb  trial  by  combat. 

But  Bernard  had  an  entirely  different  the- 
ory of  the  condemnation  of  a  heretic.  He 
trusted  to  his  personal  influence  and  im- 
mense epistolary  power.  Abelard's  works 
were  available,  and  were  sufficient  for  the 
grounding  of  a  condemnation,  he  said.  He 
was  not  merely  impatient  of  the  implied 
doubt  of  the  infallibility  of  his  judgment ;  he 
shrank  nervously  from  the  thought  of  such 
an  encounter.  He  did  not  conceal  for  a 
moment  his  dread  of  Abelard's  power.  *'  1 
am  a  boy  beside  him,"  he  pleaded,  '*and 
he  is  a  warrior  from  his  youth."    On  the 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


311 


other  hand,  if  it  became  a  question  of  a 
diplomatic  struggle  for  a  condemnation  of 
the  books  at  Rome,  the  positions  would  be 
exactly  reversed.  He  refused  to  enter  the 
lists  with  Abelard. 

In  the  meantime,  the  day  which  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Sens  had  appointed  was  rapidly 
approaching.  It  was  the  Octave  of,  or 
eighth  day  after,  Pentecost.  On  the  Sun- 
day after  Whitsunday,  now  dedicated  to 
the  Trinity,  there  was  to  be  a  brilliant 
religious  function  in  the  cathedral  at  Sens. 
It  was  customary  to  expose  the  relics  to 
veneration  on  that  day,  and  as  Sens,  the 
metropolitan  church  of  Paris  '  and  other  im- 
portant towns,  had  a  very  valuable  collec- 
tion of  relics,  the  ceremony  attracted  a 
notable  gathering  of  lords,  spiritual  and 
temporal.  Louis  Vli.  was  to  be  there,  with 
the  usual  escort  of  French  nobles  ;  the  curi- 
ously compounded  monarch  had  a  profound 
veneration  for  relics,  and  something  like  a 
passion  for  the  ceremonies  that  accompanied 

»  The  see  of  Paris  was  not  elevated  into  an  archbishopric  until  a 
much  later  date. 


If 


m  <M 


312 


Peter  Abelard 


their  translation,  veneration,  and  so  forth. 
All  the  SLififragans  of  the  archbishop  would 
be  present,  with  a  number  of  other  bishops, 
and  abbots,  clerics,  and  masters  innumer- 
able. Quite  apart  from  the  duel  between 
the  greatest  thinker  and  the  greatest  orator 
in  Europe,  there  would  be  a  very  important 
and  weighty  gathering  at  the  cathedral  on 
that  day.  Abelard  willingly  assented.  Ber- 
nard is  fond  of  repeating  in  his  later  letters 
that  Aboard  set  to  work  *'to  summon  his 
friends  and  followers  from  all  parts."  We 
shall  see  that  the  only  noteworthy  sup- 
porters of  Abelard  at  Sens  were  pupils  or 
masters  from  Paris,  which  lay  at  a  con- 
venient distance.  Bernard  was  shortly  to 
lose  his  serenity  in  a  sea  of  rhetoric. 

There  is  a  minor  quarrel  as  to  whether 
Bernard  reversed  his  decision,  and  intimated 
his  acceptance  to  the  archbishop  before  the 
day  arrived.  Father  Hefele  thinks  he  did 
so.  It  is,  however,  clear  that,  in  his  letter 
to  the  Pope  afterwards,  Bernard  wishes  to 
convey  the  impression  that  he  held  out 
until  the  last  moment,  and  only  yielded  to 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


313 


the  entreaties  of  his  friends  in  actually  pre- 
senting himself. 

We  shall  refer  to  this  letter  to  Pope  In- 
nocent shortly,  but  it  is  worth  while  to 
notice  now  the  edifying  picture  he  draws  of 
his  own  preparation  in  contrast  with  that  of 
'*  the  dragon."  Abelard  is  represented  as  fe- 
verishly whipping  up  his  supporters,  whilst 
Bernard  refuses  to  hear  of  such  an  encoun- 
ter, not  only  on  account  of  Abelard's  world- 
famed  skill  in  debate,  but  also  because  he 
thinks  it  improper  to  discuss  sacred  things 
in  this  fashion.  But  friends  represent  that 
the  Church  will  suffer,  and  the  enemies  of 
Christ  triumph.  Wearily  and  *'  without 
preparation  "—trusting  wholly  in  the  divine 
promise  of  inspiration— he  presents  himself 
on  the  appointed  day  before  ''  Goliath." 

In  point  of  historical  fact  there  is  no 
reason  for  thinking  that  Abelard  made  any 
effort  to  gather  supporters.  The  few  we 
read  of  accompanied  him  from  Paris.  He 
had  scarcely  a  single  friend  in  the  ranks  of 
his  ''judges."  On  the  other  hand  we  do 
know  that  Bernard  himself  sent  out  a  strong 


314 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


315 


and  imperious  "  whip  "  to  his  episcopal  sup- 
porters.   There  is  a  brief  letter,  contained 
in  the  Migne  collection,  which  was   de- 
spatched to  all  the  French  bishops  on  whom 
Bernard  could  rely  for  sympathy  and  sup- 
port.   They  have  heard,  he  says,  of  his 
summons  to  appear  at  Sens  on  the  Octave 
of  Pentecost.    "  If  the  cause  were  a  per- 
sonal one,"  he  goes  on,  "  the  child  of  your 
holiness  could   perhaps  not  undeservedly 
look  to  your  support  \_patrocinium\.    But  it 
is  your  cause,  and  more  than  yours  ;  and  so 
I  admonish  you  the  more  confidently  and 
entreat  you  the  more  earnestly  to  prove 
yourselves  friends  in  this  necessity— friends, 
I  should  say,  not  of  me,  but  of  Christ. "  And 
he  goes  on  to  prejudge  the  case  in  the  mind 
of  the  official  judges  with  his  rhetorical  de- 
nunciation of  Abelard's  heresies.     "  Be  not 
surprised,"  he  concludes,  "  that  1  summon 
you  so  suddenly  and  with  so  brief  a  notice  ; 
this  is  another  ruse  of  our  cunning  adver- 
sary, so  that  he  might  meet  us  unprepared 
and  unarmed." 

The  consequence  of  the  sending  of  this 


^ 


lier:..  9m 


whip  will  be  apparent  when  we  come  to 
examine  the  composition  of  the  gathering 
at  Sens.  It  marks  the  beginning  of  a  pe- 
riod of  most  remarkable  intrigue.  The 
idyllic  picture  of  the  poor  abbot  making  his 
way  at  the  last  moment  to  the  assembly 
with  a  sublime  trust  in  Providence  and  the 
righteousness  of  his  cause  must  be  regarded 
again  at  the  close  of  the  next  chapter. 

Whether  Bernard  formally  accepted  the 
summons  or  not,  therefore,  authentic  in- 
formation was  conveyed  to  both  sides  that 
the  debate  would  take  place.  It  will  be 
readily  imagined  how  profoundly  stirred 
the  kingdom  of  France  would  be  over  such 
an  expectation.  The  bare  qualities  of  the 
antagonists  put  the  discussion  leagues  above 
any  remembered  or  contemporary  event  in 
the  scholastic  world;  the  object  of  the 
debate— the  validity  of  the  new  thought 
that  was  rapidly  infecting  the  schools— was 
a  matter  of  most  material  concern.  Deutsch 
has  a  theory  of  the  conflict  which  seems  to 
be  only  notable  as  an  illustration  of  the 
profundity  of  the  Teutonic  mind.    He  opines 


^ 


•I  11 


«i 


316 


Peter  Ab^lard 


there  may  have  been  a  political  struggle 
underlying  the    academic    demonstration. 
Louis  was  just  beginning  his  struggle  with 
Rome  over  the  vexed  question  of  investi- 
tures, and  it  is  conceivable  that  the  Ab^- 
lardists  leaned  to  the  side  of  the  king,  in 
opposition  to  Bernard  and  the  "ultram'on- 
tanes."    It  is  conceivable,  but  not  at  all 
probable.    Ab^lard's  sermon  on  St.  Peter 
indicates  a  really  ultramontane  sentiment ; 
moreover,  he  has  ever  kept  aloof  from  the 
political  side  of  life.    His  follower,  Arnold 
of  Brescia,  would  be  likely  enough  to  fall 
in  with  any  such  regal  design.    Arnold  was 
a  young  Luther,  of  premature  birth.    Born 
in  Italy  at  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, he  had  travelled  to  France,  and  stud- 
ied under  Abdlard,  at  an  early  age.    He 
returned  to  Italy,  and  assumed  the  monastic 
habit.    An  enthusiastic  idealist  and  a  man 
of  proportionate  energy  and  audacity,  he 
soon  entered  upon  a  fiery  crusade  against 
the  sins  of  the  monks,  the  clergy,  and  the 
hierarchy.    He  was  driven  from  Italy  in 
1 1 39,  then  from  Switzerland,  and  he  had 


4  i'^'^^ 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


317 


just  taken  refuge  in  Paris  when  Bernard 
started  his  campaign.  Since  one  of  his 
most  prominent  theories  was  that  the 
higher  clergy  should  be  stripped  of  all  tem- 
poral privileges  and  possessions,  his  place 
is  easily  determined  on  the  question  of 
investitures.  However,  it  is  most  unlikely 
that  he  should  have  dragged  Ab^lard  into 
these  semi-political  and  dangerous  ques- 
tions. And  although  Bernard  most  sed- 
ulously urges  the  association  of  the  hated 
Arnold  with  Abelard  in  his  letters  to  Rome, 
he  never  mentions  a  suspicion  of  such  a 
coalition  as  Deutsch  suggests ;  nor,  in  fine, 
does  the  conduct  of  the  secular  arm  give 
the  least  countenance  to  the  theory. 

The  conflict  was  inevitable,  without  the 
concurrence  of  any  political  intrigue.  Abe- 
lard and  Bernard  were  the  natural  represent- 
atives of  schools  which  could  no  longer  lie 
down  in  peace  in  the  fold  of  the  Church. 
Abelard  foresaw  disaster  to  the  Church  in 
the  coming  age  of  restless  inquiry  unless  its 
truths  could  be  formulated  in  his  intellectual 
manner.    Bernard  was  honestly  convinced 


3i8 


Peter  Ab^lard 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


319 


II 


'l§ 


that  Abelard  was  '*  preparing  the  way  for 
Antichrist/'  And  it  followed  as  a  further 
consequence  that  Bernard  should  wish  to 
avoid  the  discussion  to  which  Abelard 
looked  for  salvation  from  the  menace  of  the 
mystical  school. 

It  will  appear  presently  that  Bernard  was 
less  concerned  with  the  details  of  Ab^lard's 
teaching  than  with  his  spirit.  He,  however, 
dwells  on  them  for  controversial  purposes, 
and  they  are  certainly  full  of  interest  for  the 
modern  mind.  The  point  will  be  more 
fully  developed  in  a  supplementary  chapter. 
For  the  moment,  a  brief  glance  at  them 
will  be  instructive  enough.  They  differ  a 
little  in  Bernard's  letter  from  the  list  given 
by  William  of  St.  Thierry,  but  one  can- 
not even  glance  at  them  without  noticing 
how  remarkably  this  thinker  of  the  twelfth 
century  anticipated  the  judgment  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  His  theses,  like  the 
theses  of  the  advanced  theology  of  these 
latter  days,  indicate  two  tendencies— an  in- 
tellectual tendency  to  the  more  rational 
presentment  of  dogma,  and  an  ethical  ten- 


dency  to  the  greater  moralisation  of  ancient 

belief. 

We  have  already  seen  a  good  illustration 
of  this  anticipation  of  modern  tendencies  in 
Ab^lard's  treatment  of  the  traditional  doc- 
trines of  heaven  and  hell  respectively,  and 
we  shall  see  more  later  on.  Of  the  fourteen 
specific  points  (thirteen  in  William's  letter) 
contained  in  the  present  indictment,  we 
may  pass  over  most  of  those  which  refer  to 
the  Trinity  as  without  interest.  Abelard's 
phrases  were  new,  but  he  cordially  rejected 
the  Arianism,  Nestorianism,  and  so  forth, 
with  which  Bernard  insisted  on  crediting 
him.  In  the  ninth  proposition,  that  the 
species  of  bread  and  wine  remain  in  the  air 
after  transubstantiation,  and  that  adventur- 
ous mice  only  eat  the  species,  not  the  Body 
of  Christ,  Abelard  enunciated  an  opinion 
which  has  been  widely  adopted  by  modern 
Catholic  theologians.  In  his  second  propo- 
sition, that  the  Holy  Ghost  was  the  Platonic 
anima  mundi,  Abelard  was  merely  trying  to 
save  Plato  from  the  damnation  of  the  Ber- 
nardists. 


m 


w 


it: 


I  Hi 


320 


Peter  Ab^lard 


On  the  ethical  side,  AWlard's  theses  (in 
their  context  in  his  works)  are  truly  remark- 
able.   Thus  the  third,  "That  God  can  only 
do  those  things  which  he  actually  does,  and 
in  the  way  and  at  the  time  that  He  does 
them,"  and  the  seventh,  "That  God  is  not 
bound  to  prevent  evil,"  are  obviously  indi- 
cations of  an  ethical  attempt  to  save  the 
sanctity  of  the  Infinite  in  view  of  the  triumph 
of  evil.    ' '  That  Christ  did  not  become  Man 
for  the  purpose  of  saving  us  from  the  yoke 
of  the  devil "  is  an  early  formulation  of  the 
familiar  modern  conception  of  the  Incarna- 
tion.   "  That  God  does  not  do  more  for  the 
elect,  before  they  accept  his  grace,  than  for 
the  damned,"  and  "That  we  have  shared 
the  punishment  but  not  the  guilt  of  Adam," 
are  further  clear  anticipations  of  the  refined 
theology  of  modern  times.    "No  man  can 
sin  before  he  exists,"  said  Ab^lard,  to  Ber- 
nard's   mighty   indignation.     "That  God 
alone  remits  sin  "  is  heretical  to  the  modern 
Catholic,  but  the  dogma  was  not  completely 
bom  until  the  following  century';  "that 

'  And  the  thesis  is  rejected  in  Abelard's  Apology. 


^»*^B5giJU  UJJJ* .    "JJ. 


/ 


A  Return  to  the  Arena 


321 


[/ 


evil  thoughts,  and  even  pleasure,  are  not  of 
themselves  sinful,  but  only  the  consent 
given  to  them,"  and  ''that  the  Jews  who 
crucified  Christ  in  ignorance  did  not  sin, 
that  acts  which  are  done  in  ignorance  can- 
not be  sinful,"  express  the  universal  opinion 
of  even  modern  Catholic  theologians,  in  the 
sense  in  which  Ab^lard  held  them. 

And  ''these,"  wrote  Bernard,  with  fine 
contempt,  to  his  friend.  Pope  Innocent, 
"are  the  chief  errors  of  the  theology,  or 
rather  the  stultilogy  of  Peter  Ab61ard." 


ax 


The  Final  Blow 


323 


il 


Chapter  XIII 

The  Final  Blow 

QN  the  4th  of  June,  1141,  the  cathedral 
at  Sens  was  filled  with  one  of  the 
strangest  throngs  that  ever  gathered  within 
its  venerable  walls.    Church  and  State  and 
the  schools  had  brought  their  highest  repre- 
sentatives and  their  motley  thousands  to 
witness  the  thrilling  conflict  of  the  two  first 
thinkers  and  orators  of  France.     On  the 
previous  day,  the  magnificent  ceremony  of 
the  veneration  of  the  relics  had  taken  place. 
At  that  ceremony  the  Abbot  of  Clairvaux 
had  discoursed  of  the  meaning  and  potency 
of  their  act.    And  when  the  vast  crowds  of 
gentle  and  simple  folk  had  quickened  and 
sobbed  and  enthused  at  his  burning  words, 
he  had  ventured  to  ask  their  prayers  for  the 
conversion  of  an  unbeliever,  whom  he  did 
not  name. 

322 


Now,  on  the  Monday  morning,  the  great 
concourse  had  streamed  into  the  cathedral 
once  more,  an  intense  eagerness  flashing 
from  the  eyes  of  the  majority.  The  red 
Mass  of  the  Holy  Spirit  had  been  chanted 
by  the  clerics,  and  the  clouds  of  incense 
still  clung  about  the  columns  and  the  vaulted 
roof  of  the  church.  King  Louis  sat  expect- 
ant, and  stupid,  on  the  royal  throne  ;  the 
Count  de  Nevers  and  a  brilliant  group  of 
nobles  and  knights  standing  beside  and 
behind  him.  Opposite  them,  another  gaily 
apparelled  group  presented  Henry,  Arch- 
bishop of  Sens,  with  five  of  his  suffragan 
bishops ;  beside  him  sat  Samson,  Archbishop 
of  Rheims,  with  three  suffragans.  Mitred 
abbots  added  to  the  splendour  with  their 
flash  of  jewels.  Shaven  monks,  with  the 
white  wool  of  Citeaux  or  the  black  tunic  of 
St.  Benedict,  mingled  with  the  throng  of 
canons,  clerics,  scholastics,  wandering  mas- 
ters, ragged,  cosmopolitan  students,  and 
citizens  of  Sens  and  Paris  in  their  gay 
holiday  attire. 

It  was,  at  first  sight,  just  such  an  assembly 


I'lKl 


im 


tsse 


324 


Peter  Abdiard 


The  Final  Blow 


325 


as  Abelard  had  dreamed  of  when  he  threw 
down  the  gauntlet  to  the  Cistercian.  But 
he  must  have  looked  far  from  happy  as  he 
stood  in  the  midst  of  his  small  band  of 
followers.  As  he  passed  into  the  cathedral, 
he  had  noticed  Gilbert  de  la  Porr^e  in  the 
crowd,  the  brilliant  master  who  was  to  be 
Bernard's  next  victim,  and  he  whispered 
smilingly  the  line  of  Horace : 

"  It  is  thy  affair  when  thy  neighbour's  house  is  on  fire." 

With  Abelard  were  the  impetuous  young 
master,  Berenger  of  Poitiers;  the  stern, 
ascetic,  scornful  young  Italian,  Arnold  of 
Brescia,  flashing  into  the  eyes  of  the  pre- 
lates the  defiance  that  brought  him  to  the 
stake  fourteen  years  afterwards ;  and  the 
young  Roman  noble.  Hyacinth,  who  after- 
wards became  cardinal. 

Beside  these,  and  a  host  of  admiring  non- 
entities,  Abelard  almost  looked  in  vain  for  a 
friendly  face  amidst  the  pressing  throng. 
The  truth  was  that,  as  Rem usat  says,  'Mf 
Bernard  had  not  prepared  for  debate,  he  had 
made  every  preparation  for  the  verdict." 


The  whole  cathedral  was  with  him.  After 
his  discourse  of  the  preceding  day,  and  the 
rumours  that  had  preceded  it,  the  priest- 
ridden  citizens  of  Sens  were  prepared  to 
stone  the  heretic,  as  the  people  of  Soissons 
had  threatened  to  do.  The  students  would 
be  divided,  according  to  their  schools.  The 
monks  longed  to  see  the  downfall  of  their 
critic.  The  king— the  man  who  was  to  bear 
to  his  grave  ''the  curse  of  Europe  and  the 
blessing  of  St.  Bernard  "—was  not  likely  to 
hesitate.  The  Count  de  Nevers  was  a  pious, 
credulous  noble,  who  afterwards  became  a 
Cistercian  monk.  Otto  of  Freising  says 
Count  Theobald  of  Champagne  was  present, 
though  the  report  does  not  mention  him  ; 
in  any  case,  he  had  fallen  largely  under  Ber- 
nard's influence  since  his  sister  had  gone 
down  in  the  White  Ship  in  1120.  The 
clergy  of  Sens  were  with  Bernard ;  their 
motto  was:  *'The  church  of  Sens  knows 
no  novelties."  Of  the  judges  proper,  Geof- 
frey, Bishop  of  Chartres,  was  almost  the  only 
one  who  could  be  termed  neutral ;  and  even 
he  had  now  become  greatly  amenable  to 


I 
ill  t 


:u 


m 


326 


Peter  Abdlard 


Bernard's  influence.   Archbishop  Henry  was 
completely  in  the  hands  of  Bernard,  his  con- 
verter, who  scolded  him  at  times  as  if  he 
were  a  boy.   Archbishop  Samson  of  Rheims 
owed  his  pallium  to  Bernard,  in  the  teeth  of 
the  king's  opposition  ;  he  was  deprived  of  it 
some  years  afterwards.    Hugo  of  Macon, 
the  aged  Bishop  of  Auxerre,  was  a  relative 
of  Bernard's  and  a  fellow-monk  at  Citeaux. 
Joscelin  of  Vieri,  Bishop  of  Soissons,  was 
the  former  teacher  of  Goswin,  and  the  asso- 
ciate of  Bernard  on  a  papal  mission  a  few 
years  before.    Geoffrey,  Bishop  of  Chalons, 
Ab^lard's  former  friend  at  St.  M^dard,  had 
since  been  helped  to  a  bishopric  by  Bernard. 
Hatton,  Bishop  of  Troyes,  had  been  won  to 
Bernard.    Alvise,  Bishop  of  Arras,  is  said  to 
have  been  a  brother  of  Abbot  Suger  and 
friend  of  Goswin.    Of  the  only  two  other 
bishops  present,  Helias  of  Orleans  and  Ma- 
nasses  of  Meaux,  we  have  no  information. 

In  such  an  assembly  the  nerve  of  the 
boldest  speaker  might  well  fail.  Bernard  had 
preached  during  the  Mass  on  the  importance 
of  the  true  faith.    Then  when  the  critical 


The  Final  Blow 


327 


moment  came,  he  mounted  the  pulpit  with 
a  copy  of  the  writings  of  Abelard,  and  the 
dense  crowd,  totally  ignorant,  most  proba- 
bly, of  previous  events,  which  were  known 
only  to  the  intimate  friends  of  each  combat- 
ant, held  its  breath  for  the  opening  of  the 
struggle.  The  frail,  worn,  nervous  figure  in 
the  flowing,  white  tunic  began  to  read  the 
indictment,  but  suddenly  Abelard  stepped 
forth  before  the  astonished  judges,  and, 
crying  out :  "I  will  not  be  judged  thus 
like  a  criminal ;  I  appeal  to  Rome,"  turned 
his  back  on  them  and  strode  out  of  the 
cathedral. 

Chroniclers  have  left  to  our  imagination  the 
confusion  that  followed,  and  we  may  leave 
it  to  that  of  the  reader.  Although  the 
bishops  afterwards  made  a  show  of  disput- 
ing it,  the  appeal  was  quite  canonical,  and 
was  admitted  at  Rome.  But  it  was  a  course 
which  had  not  entered  into  the  thoughts  of 
the  most  astute  of  them,  and  which  com- 
pletely upset  their  plans.  They  could  not 
now  touch  the  person  of  Abelard.  Bernard, 
indeed,  did  not  deprive  the  great  audience  of 


.1 


n 
7 


ji 


328 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Final  Blow 


329 


til  i|i' .' 


the  discourse  he  had  ''not  prepared,"  al- 
though it  was  now  quite  safe  from  contra- 
diction. We  have  it,  some  say,  in  his  later 
letter  to  the  Pope,  a  most  vehement  denun- 
ciation and  often  perversion  of  Abelard's 
teaching.  He  gained  an  easy  victory,  as 
far  as  Sens  was  concerned.  The  next  day 
the  prelates  met  together,  condemned  AW- 
lard's  teaching  as  heretical,  and  forwarded 
a  report,  submitting  his  person  and  his 
works,  to  Rome. 

The  question  why  Ab^lard  behaved  in  so 
extraordinary  a  manner  has  had  many  an- 
swers. The  answer  of  the  godly,  given  by 
Bernard's  monkish  biographer,  is  of  the 
transcendental  order.  Brother  Geoffrey  re- 
lates that  Abelard  confessed  to  his  intimate 
friends  that  he  mysteriously  lost  the  use 
and  control  of  his  mind  when  Bernard  began. 
Bishop  Otto  of  Freising  says  that  he  feared 
*'a  rising  of  the  people.''  He  would  be 
more  likely  to  provoke  one  by  thus  affront- 
ing their  great  cathedral  and  prelates.  The 
true  interpretation  is  that  the  assembly  was 
a  play,  covering  an  unworthy  intrigue,  and 


he  had  been  secretly  informed  of  it.  The 
bishops  had  drawn  up  their  verdict,  over 
their  cups,  on  the  preceding  day. 

Desperate  efforts  are  made,  of  course,  to 
destroy  an  interpretation  which  does  not 
leave  the  discredit  on  Abelard,  but  it  has 
now  been  based  on  incontrovertible  evi- 
dence. In  the  first  place,  the  bishops  in- 
geniously confess  it  themselves  in  their 
eagerness  to  evade  a  different  accusation. 
In  order  to  influence  the  judgment,  or  rather 
the  decision,  of  the  Pope,  they  told  him 
that  they  had  found  Abelard's  teaching  to  be 
heretical.  How,  then,  were  they  to  recon- 
cile this  with  the  notice  of  Abelard's  appeal 
to  Rome  ?  '*  We  had,"  they  say  in  their  \ 
report,  ''already  condemned  him  on  the 
day  before  he  appealed  to  you."  It  matters 
little  who  wrote  this  report— whether  Bern- 
ard^ or  Henry's  secretary— because  it  was 
signed  by  the  bishops.    They  reveal  their 

>  It  is  singular  that  Mr.  Poole,  who  credits  Bernard  with  writing  the 
report,  should  speak  of  the  words  as  a  deliberate  "lie  of  excuse," 
especially  as  he  adopts  the  witness  of  Berenger  to  a  previous  con- 
demnation. We  are  not  only  compelled  by  independent  evidence  to 
take  them  as  correct,  but  one  imputes  a  lesser  sin  to  Bernard  (from  the 
Catholic  point  of  view)  in  doing  so. 


I 


tl 


if ' 

(I  J  I 


"^ 


330 


Peter  Abelard 


secret   conclave  of  the   Sunday  evening. 

Henry  was  particularly  anxious  to  justify 
them,  at  all  costs,  on  the  charge  of  disre- 
garding the  appeal,  because  he  had  been 
suspended  by  Innocent  for  that  offence  a 
few  years  previously. 

Again,  in  the  Historia  Pontificalis,  at- 
tributed to  John  of  Salisbury,  there  is  an 
account  of  Bernard's  attempt  to  secure  the 
condemnation  of  that  other  brilliant  dialec- 
tician, Gilbert  de  la  Porr^e,  in  1 148.    It  is 
expressly  stated   that   Bernard  called  the 
chief  personages  together  the  night  before 
the  synod,  and  was  leading  them  to  pro- 
nounce on    Gilbert's    "errors,"   when  an 
archdeacon  of  Chalons  spoiled  his  strategy. 
Further,  the  writer  goes  on  to  say  that  the 
cardinals— there  were  a  number  present  for 
the    synod— were    greatly   incensed   with 
Bernard,  and  "said  that  Abbot  Bernard  had 
beaten  Master  Abelard  by  a  similar  strata- 
gem."   It  is  not  unlikely  that  they  learned 
the  story  from  Hyacinth,  the  young  Roman. 

The  classical  witness  to  this  over-night 
conclave   is  Abelard's   pupil,  B^renger  of 


assgc 


The  Final  Blow 


331 


Poitiers.     Unfortunately,    his  narrative    is 
marred  by  obvious   exaggerations   and  a 
careless,  heated  temper.    It  occurs  in  an 
apology  for  Abelard,  or  an  *'open  letter" 
to  Bernard,  which  he  wrote  some  months 
afterwards.    After   reminding   Bernard   of 
some  of  the  frivolities  of  his  early  youth, 
and  much  sarcastic  comment  on  his  actual 
reputation,  he  gives  what  purports  to  be  a 
detailed  description  of  the  secret  meeting. 
No  one  who  reads  it  will  take  it  literally. 
Yet  when,  in  later  years  he  was  run  down, 
like  Gilbert  and  Arnold,  by  the  relentless 
sleuthhound,  he  made  a  partial  retractation. 
What  he  has  written  as  to  the  person  of 
''the  man  of  God  "  must,  he  says,  be  taken 
as  a  joke.    But  a  few  lines  previously  he 
has  appealed  to  this  very  narrative  in  justi- 
fication of  his  abuse  of  Bernard  :  ''Let  the 
learned  read  my  Apology,  and  they  may 
justly  censure  me  if  I  have  unduly  blamed 
him  [Bernard]."    It  is  not  impossible  that 
B^renger  merely  retracts  such  remarks  as 
that   about   Bernard's  juvenile   '' cantiun- 
culas."    In  any  case,  we  may  justly  trans- 


\ 


X: 


' 


I 


232 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Final  Blow 


333 


1 1 
III 


'Hi' 


cribe  a  portion  of  the  narrative,  after  these 
qualifications. 

"At  length,    when   the  dinner  was  over,  Peter's 
work  was  brought  in,  and  someone  was  directed  to 
read  it  aloud.     This  fellow,  animated  with  a  hatred  of 
Peter,  and  well  watered  with  the  juice  of  the  grape, 
read  in  a  much  louder  voice  than  he  had  been  asked 
to  do.    After  a  time  you  would  have  seen  them  knock 
their  feet  together,  laugh,  and  crack  jokes  ;  you  would 
thmk  they  were  honouring  Bacchus  rather  than  Christ. 
And  all  the  time  the  cups  are  going,  the  wine  is  being 
praised,  the  episcopal  throats  are  being  moistened 
The  juice  of  the  lethal  drink  had  already  buried  their 
hearts.     .     .     .     Then,    when    anything    unusually 
subtle  and  divine  was  read  out,  anything  the  episcopal 
ears  were  not  accustomed  to,  they  hardened  their 
hearts  and  ground  their  teeth  against  Peter.     '  Shall 
we  let  this  monster  live  ? '  they  cried.     ...     The 
heat  of  the  wine  at  length  relaxed  the  eyes  of  all  in 
slumber.     The  reader  continues  amidst  their  snoring 
One  leans  on  his  elbow  in  order  to  sleep.     Another 
gets  a  soft  cushion.     Another  slumbers  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  knees.     So  when  the  reader  came  to 
anythmg  particularly  thorny  in  Peter,  he  shouted  in 
the  deaf  ears  of  the  pontiffs  :  *  Do  you  condemn  ? ' 
And  some  of  them  just  waking  up  at  the  last  syllable 
would  mutter:  'We  condemn.'" 

It  is  not  difficult  to  take  off  the  due  and 
considerable  discount  from  the  youthful  ex- 
travagance of  Master  Berenger.    Bernard's 


followers  (in  the  Histoire  UtUraire  de  la 
France)  say  he  had  '*too  noble  a  soul  and 
too  elevated  a  sentiment  to  stoop  to  the 
refutation  of  such  a  work."  He  has  never, 
at  all  events,  essayed  to  rebut  the  charge 
of  procuring  a  verdict  against  Ab^lard  on 
the  day  before  the  synod.  Even  in  our 
own  days  it  is  a  familiar  source  of  merri- 
ment in  ecclesiastical  and  monastic  circles 
to  see  a  group  of  prelates  fervently  follow- 
ing the  red  Mass  of  the  Holy  Ghost  as  a 
preliminary  to  a  discussion  of  points  which 
they  have  notoriously  settled  over  their 
cups  the  night  before.  Such  a  meeting  of 
the  bishops  on  the  Sunday  would  be  inevit- 
able. Bernard  would  inevitably  be  present, 
and  Abelard  infallibly  excluded.  In  any 
case,  the  evidence  is  too  precise  and  sub- 
stantial to  be  rejected.  Indeed,  the  story 
fully  harmonises  with  our  knowledge  of 
Bernard's  earlier  and  subsequent  conduct. 
It  is  not  ours  to  inquire  minutely  how  far 
Bernard  was  consistent  with  himself  and 
his  lofty  ideals  in  acting  thus. 
Bernard  was  defeated  for  the  moment  by 


334 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Final  Blow 


the  unexpected  appeal  from  the  verdict  of 
the  unjust  judges.     But  he  knew  well  that 
Abelard  had  avoided  Scylla  only  to  plunge 
into  Charybdis.      Abelard's  knowledge  of 
the  curia  was  restricted  to  a  few  days  ac- 
quaintance with  it  in  a  holiday  mood  at 
Morigni.    Arnold  of  Brescia  probably  urged 
his   own   acquaintance   with   it   in   vain. 
Moreover,  many  years  had  elapsed  since 
his  name  was  inscribed  by  the  side  of  that 
of  Bernard  in  the   chronicle  of  Morigni. 
Bernard,  the  secluded  contemplative,  knew 
the  curia  well.    He  hastened  home,  told 
his  secretary  to  prepare  for  a  journey  across 
the  Alps,  and  sat  down  to  write  a  batch  of 
extremely  clever  epistles.    The  battle  was 
fought  and  won  before  Abelard  had  covered 
many  leagues  in  the  direction  of  Italy. 

The  first  document  that  Bernard  seems 
to  have  written  is  the  report  upon  the 
synod  which  was  sent  to  Innocent  II.  in 
the  name  of  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims  and 
his  suffragans.  Hausrath,  who  is  the  least 
restrained  by  considerations  of  Bernard's 
official  sanctity  of  all  Abelard's  apologists, 


335 


and  others  hold  that  both  the  reports  of 
the  proceedings,  that  of  Samson  and  that 
of  Henry  (for  the  two  archbishops,  with 
with  their  respective  suffragans,  reported 
separately  to  the  Pope),  were  written  by 
Bernard.  It  is  at  least  clear  that  the  Rheims 
report  was  drawn  up  by  him.  Mr.  Poole 
says  this  is  admitted  even  by  Father  Hefele. 
Bernard's  style  is  indeed  unmistakable. 

In  this  official  document,  therefore,  the 
Pope  is  informed,  not  so  much  that  a  dis- 
pute about  Abelard's  orthodoxy  is  referred 
to  his  court,  as  that  ''  Peter  Abelard  is  en- 
deavouring to  destroy  the  merit  of  faith,  in 
that  he  professes  himself  able  to  compre- 
hend by  his  human  reason  the  whole  being 
of  God."  From  this  gross  calumny*  the 
writer  passes  on  to  assure  the  Pope  that 
Abelard  *'  is  a  great  man  in  his  own  eyes, 
ever  disputing  about  the  faith  to  its  undoing, 
walking  in  things  that  are  far  above  him,  a 
searcher  into  the  divine  majesty,  a  framer 
of  heresies."    He  goes  on  to  recount  that 

*  Abelard  explicitly  and  very  emphatically  rebukes  such  pretension  in 
the  very  book  which  Bernard  is  supposed  to  have  read. 


336 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Final  Blow 


337 


Abelard's  book  had  been  condemned  and 
burnt    once    before,    at   Soissons,     *'  be- 
cause of  the  iniquity  that  was  found  in  it "  ; 
whereas  every  scholar  in  France  knew  that 
it  was  condemned  on  the  sole  ground  that 
it  had  been  issued  without  authorisation. 
''  Cursed  be  he  who  has  rebuilt  the  walls  of 
Jericho/'  fulminates   the  Abbot  of  Clair- 
vaux.      Finally,  he  represents  Abelard  as 
boasting  of  his  influence  at  Rome.    *'This 
is  the  boast  of  the  man,"  he  says, ''  that  his 
book  can  find  wherein  to  rest  its  head  in  the 
Roman  curia.    This  gives  strength  and  as- 
surance to  his  frenzy.''    The  sole  object  of 
his  appeal  is  ''to  secure  a  longer  immunity 
for  his  iniquity.    You  must  needs  apply  a 
swift  remedy  to  this  source  of  contagion." 
And  this  monstrous  epistle  closes  with  a 
trust  that  Innocent  will  do  his  part,  and  that 
swiftly,  as  they  had  done  theirs.    Thus  was 
the  Pope  introduced,  in  a  handwriting  he 
had  so  many  reasons  to  respect,  to  Abe- 
lard's appeal  for  consideration. 

The  second  report,  which  is  signed  by 
Archbishop  Henry  and  his  suffragans,  and 


*  i 


which  may  not  have  been  drawn  up  by 
Bernard,  is  more  free  from  diplomatic  turn- 
ings, but  also  gravely  unjust  to  the  appel- 
lant. It  gives  the  Pope  a  lengthy  account 
of  the  order  of  events  since  the  receipt  of 
the  letter  of  William  of  St.  Thierry.  From  it 
we  have  quoted  the  words  in  which  the 
bishops  themselves  confess  the  secret  con- 
clave on  the  Sunday.  The  bishops  were 
affronted,  it  says,  by  Abelard's  appeal, 
which  was  ''  hardly  canonical,"  but  they 
were  content  with  an  examination  of  his 
doctrines  (consisting  of  Bernard's  vehe- 
ment harangue)  and  found  them  to  be 
''most  manifestly  heretical."  They  there- 
fore "  unanimously  demand  the  condemna- 
tion of  Abelard."  To  put  the  point  quite 
explicitly,  the  Pope  is  clearly  to  understand 
that  the  Church  of  France  has  already  dealt 
with  Abelard.  It  is  not  quite  so  insidious 
as  the  report  which  Bernard  wrote,  and  to 
which— sad  sign  of  the  growing  quality  of 
the  Church— even  Geoffrey  of  Chartres  lent 
his  venerable  name. 
Bernard's  official  task  seemed  to  be  at  an 


aa 


ill 


338 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Final  Blow 


339 


il 


jpfi'' 


end  with  the  despatch  of  the  report.  His 
profound  and  generous  trust  in  the  Holy 
Spirit  would  lead  one  to  expect  a  complete 
withdrawal  from  the  quarrel  into  which  he 
had  been  so  unwillingly  forced.  But  Ber- 
nard's conception  of  the  activity  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  though  equal  in  theoretical 
altitude,  was  very  different  in  practice  from 
that  of  a  Francis  of  Assisi.  We  have 
amongst  his  works  no  less  than  three  epis- 
tles that  he  wrote  at  the  time  to  Pope  In- 
nocent in  his  own  name.  One  of  them 
consists  of  a  few  prefatory  remarks  to  the 
list  of  Abelard's  errors.  The  two  others  are 
of  a  much  more  personal  and  interesting 
character.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether, 
and  if  so,  why,  the  two  letters  were  sent 
to  the  Pope,  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  de- 
termine this.  Both  were  certainly  written 
by  Bernard  for  the  purpose. 

The  first  letter  is  addressed  ''to  his  most 
loving  father  and  lord,  Innocent,  Sovereign 
Pontiff  by  the  grace  of  God,  from  Brother 
Bernard,  called  the  Abbot  of  Clairvaux.'' 
From  the  first  line  he  aims  at  determining 


the  case  in  the  Pope's  mind.  '*  It  is  neces- 
sary that  there  be  scandals  amongst  us— 
necessary,  but  assuredly  not  welcome." 
Hence  have  the  saints  ever  longed  to  be 
taken  from  this  troubled  world.  Bernard  is 
equally  tired  of  life.  He  knows  not  whether 
it  be  expedient  that  he  die,  yet ''  the  scandals 
and  troubles"  about  him  are  pressing  his 
departure.  ' '  Fool  that  I  was  to  promise  my- 
self rest  if  ever  the  Leonine  trouble^  was 
quelled  and  peace  was  restored  to  the 
Church.  That  trouble  is  over,  yet  I  have 
not  found  peace.  I  had  forgotten  that  I  still 
lingered  in  the  vale  of  tears."  His  sorrow 
and  his  tears  have  been  renewed. 

**  We  have  escaped  the  lion  [Pierleone],  only  to  meet 
the  dragon  [Abelard],  who,  in  his  insidious  way,  is 
perhaps  not  less  dangerous  than  the  lion  roaring  in 
high  places.  Did  I  say  insidious  ?  Would  indeed 
that  his  poisoned  pages  did  lurk  in  the  library,  and 
were  not  read  openly  in  the  streets.  His  books  fly  in 
all  directions  ;  whereas  they,  in  their  iniquity,  once 
shunned  the  light,  they  now  emerge  into  it,  thinking 
the  light  to  be  darkness.  ...  A  new  gospel  is 
being  made  for  the  nations,  a  new  faith  is  put  before 
them." 

»  The  reference  is  to  the  anti-pope,  a  Pierleone.     It  is  a  subtle 
reminder  of  what  Pope  Innocent  owes  to  Bernard. 


ZSs%i^LI^^^^^^ 


340 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Final  Blow 


34' 


After  Pierleone  it  is  useful  to  remind  Inno- 
cent of  his  second  great  bete  noire. 

'*  The  Goliath  [Abelard]  stalks  along  in  his  greatness, 
girt  about  with  that  noble  panoply  of  his,  and  preceded 
by  his  weapon-bearer,  Arnold  of  Brescia.  Scale  is 
joined  to  scale,  so  closely  that  not  a  breath  can  get 
between/  For  the  French  bee  [Abeille-ard]  has 
hummed  its  call  to  the  Italian  bee  ;  and  they  have 
conspired  together  against  the  Lord  and  His  anointed." 

He  must  even  deny  them  the  merit  of  their 
notoriously  ascetic  lives:  ''Bearing  the 
semblance  of  piety  in  their  food  and  clothing, 
but  void  of  its  virtue,  they  deceive  many  by 
transforming  themselves  into  angels  of  light  * 
—whereas  they  are  devils."  The  Pope  must 
not  be  misled  by  rumours  of  Abelard's  pre- 
sent fervour  of  life;  he  is  ''outwardly  a 
Baptist,  but  inwardly  a  Herod,"  Bernard  as- 
sures him.  Then  follows  a  passage  we  have 
already  quoted.  He  tells  the  Pope  the  edi- 
fying story  of  the  archbishop's  summons, 
his  refusal,  the  entreaties  of  his  friends,  the 
gathering  of  Abelard's  supporters,  and  his 
final  resolve  to  go  :  "  Yielding  to  the  coun- 
sel  of  friends,   I  presented  myself  at  the 

»  Recalling  some  of  the  zoology  of  the  Old  Testament. 


appointed  time  and  place,  unprepared  and 
unequipped,  save  that  1  had  in  mind  the 
monition  :  '  Take  ye  no  thought  what  and 
how  ye  shall  speak.'"  Then  "when  his 
books  had  begun  to  be  read  [he  does  not 
say  by  whom],  he  would  not  listen,  but 
went  out,  appealing  from  the  judges  he  had 
chosen.  These  things  I  tell  thee  in  my  own 
defence,  lest  thou  mayst  think  1  have  been 
too  impetuous  or  bold  in  the  matter.  But 
thou,  O  successor  of  Peter,  thou  shalt  de- 
cide whether  he  who  has  assailed  the  faith 
of  Peter  should  find  refuge  in  the  see  of 
Pet^;."  In  other  words,  do  not  allow  Abe- 
lard to  come  to  Rome,  but  condemn  him 
unheard,  on  my  word.  He  ends  with  a 
final  diplomatic  argumentum  ad  invidiam. 
"  Hyacinth  has  done  me  much  injury,  but 
I  have  thought  well  to  suffer  it,  seeing  that 
he  did  not  spare  you  and  your  court  when 
he  was  at  Rome,  as  my  friend,  and  indeed 
yours,  l^icholas,  will  explain  more  fully  by 
word  of  mouth." 

The  second  letter  runs  so  largely  on  the 
same  lines  that  it  is  thought  by  some  to  have 


342 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Final  Blow 


143 


been  sent  to  the  Pope  instead  of  the  preced- 
ing, in  which  the  reference  to  Hyacinth  and 
the  curia  may  have  been  impolitic.  ''  Weep- 
ing has  the  spouse  of  Christ  wept  in  the 
night,"  it  begins,  ''  and  tears  are  upon  her 
cheeks  ;  there  is  none  to  console  her  out  of 
all  her  friends.  And  in  the  delaying  of  the 
spouse  to  thee,  my  lord,  is  committed  the 
care  of  the  Shunammite  in  this  land  of  her  pil- 
grimage. "  Ab^lard  is  a  *  *  domestic  enemy, " 
an  Absalom,  a  Judas.  There  is  the  same 
play  upon  the  lion  and  the  dragon,  and  upon 
the  scaly  monster  formed  of  Abelard  and 
Arnold.  ''They  have  become  corrupt  and 
abominable  in  their  aims,  and  from  the  fer- 
ment of  their  corruptions  they  pervert  the 
faith  of  the  simple,  disturb  the  order  of 
morals,  and  defile  the  chastity  of  the 
Church."  Moreover,  Abelard  *' boasts  that 
he  has  opened  the  founts  of  knowledge  to 
the  cardinals  and  priests  of  the  Roman  curia, 
and  that  he  has  lodged  his  books  and  his 
opinions  in  the  hands  and  hearts  of  the 
Romans  ;  and  he  adduces  as  patrons  of  his 
error  those  who  should  judge  and  condemn 


him."  He  concludes  with  an  apostrophe  to 
Abelard,  which  was  well  calculated  to  expel 
the  last  lingering  doubt  from  the  mind  of 
the  Pope. 

**  With  what  thoughts,  what  conscience,  canst  thou 
have  recourse  to  the  defender  of  the  faith— thou,  its 
persecutor  ?  With  what  eyes,  what  brow,  wilt  thou 
meet  the  gaze  of  the  friend  of  the  spouse— thou,  the 
violator  of  His  bride  ?  Oh,  if  the  care  of  the  brethren 
did  not  detain  me  !  If  bodily  infirmity  did  not  pre- 
vent it !  How  I  should  love  to  see  the  friend  of  the 
spouse  defending  the  bride  in  His  absence  I " 

The  third  letter,  a  kind  of  preface  to  Ber- 
nard's list  of  errors  and  commentary  thereon, 
is  of  the  same  unworthy  temper,  tortuous, 
diplomatic,  misleading,  and  vituperative.  It 
is  not  apparent  on  what  ground  Hausrath 
says  this  commentary  represents  Bernard's 
speech  at  Sens  ;  if  it  does  so,  we  have 
another  curious  commentary  on  Bernard's 
affirmation  that  he  went  to  the  synod  un- 
prepared. However  that  may  be,  the  letter 
is  a  singular  composition,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  it  accompanied  an  appeal  to  a  higher 
court,  to  which  the  case  had  been  reserved. 
It  opens  with  a  declaration  that ''  the  see  of 


II  |ii! 


344 


Peter  Ab^lard 


The  Final  Blow 


345 


i' 


Peter "  is  the  due  and  natural  tribunal  to 
which  to  refer  ''all  scandals  that  arise  in  the 
Kingdom  of  God  " ;  a  declaration  which  is 
hardly  consistent  with  the  assurance,  when 
it  is  necessary  to  defend  their  condemnation 
of  Abelard,  that  his  appeal  '*  seems  to  us 
wonderful."  Then  follows  the  familiar 
caricature. 

"We  have  here  in  France  an  old  master  who  has  just 
turned  theologian,  who  has  played  with  the  art  of 
rhetoric  from  his  earliest  years  and  now  raves  about 
the  Holy  Scriptures  [Abelard  had  been  teaching  Script- 
ure and  theology  for  the  last  twenty-six  years].  He 
is  endeavouring  to  resuscitate  doctrines  that  were  con- 
demned and  buried  long  ago,  and  to  these  he  adds 
new  errors  of  his  own.  A  man  who,  in  his  inquiries 
into  all  there  is  in  heaven  above  or  earth  below,  is 
ignorant  of  nothing  save  the  word  '  1  do  not  know.' 
He  lifts  his  eyes  to  the  heavens,  and  peers  into  the 
hidden  things  of  God,  then  returns  to  us  with  dis- 
course of  things  that  man  is  not  permitted  to  discuss." 

This  last  sentence,  considered  as  a  charge 
by  Bernard  of  Clairvaux  against  others,  is 
amusing.  Bernard  spent  half  his  time  in 
searching  the  hidden  things  of  God,  and 
the  other  half  in  discoursing  of  them.  But 
Abelard  conceived  them  otherwise  than  he. 


Thus  was  the  supreme  judge  instructed  in 
his  part,  whilst  the  foolish  Abelard  lingered 
idly  in  Paris,  not  improbably,  as  Bernard 
says,  boasting  of  his  friends  at  the  curia. 
It  was  very  possible  that  he  had  friends  at 
Rome.  Deutsch  suspects  the  existence  of 
a  faction  in  the  sacred  college  which  was 
opposed  to  Innocent  and  the  Chancellor 
Haymerick  and  would  be  favourable  to 
Abelard.  Bernard  was  not  the  man  to  leave 
a  single  risk  unchallenged— or  to  the  care 
of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

In  the  first  place,  therefore,  he  wrote  a 
circular  letter  ''  To  all  my  lords  and  fathers, 
the  venerable  bishops  and  cardinals  of  the 
curia,  from  the  child  of  their  holiness."  His 
secretary  was  to  deliver  a  copy  to  each. 
''None  will  doubt,"  he  says,  ^'that  it  is 
your  especial  duty  to  remove  all  scandals 
from  the  kingdom  of  God."  The  Roman 
Church  is  the  tribunal  of  the  world  : 

"  to  it  we  do  well  to  refer,  not  questions,  but  attacks 
on  the  faith  and  dishonour  of  Christ  ;  contumely  and 
contempt  of  the  fathers  ;  present  scandals  and  future 
dangers.  The  faith  of  the  simple  is  derided,  the 
hidden  things  of  God  are  dragged  forth,  questions  of 


346 


Peter  Abelard 


The  Final  Blow 


347 


the  most  sublime  mysteries  are  rashly  debated,  insults 
are  offered  to  the  fathers. " 

They  will  see  this  by  the  report.  "And  if 
you  think  there  is  just  ground  for  my  agita- 
tion, be  ye  also  moved"— and  moved  to 
take  action.  "Let  him  who  has  raised 
himself  to  the  heavens  be  crushed  down  to 
hell ;  he  has  sinned  in  public,  let  him  be 
punished  in  public."  It  is  the  fulmination 
of  the  prophet  of  the  age  on  the  duty  of 
the  curia. 

Then  came  eight  private  letters  to  cardinals 
of  his  acquaintance,  an  interesting  study  in 
ecclesiastical  diplomacy.  To  the  chancellor 
of  the  curia,  Haymerick,  he  speaks  chiefly 
of  Ab^lard's  boast  of  friends  at  court.  He 
transcribes  the  passage  from  his  letter  to 
Innocent ;  and  he  adds  the  earlier  allusion 
to  the  Roman  deacon,  Hyacinth,  who  was 
evidently  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  officials 
of  the  curia.  To  Guido  of  Castello,  after- 
wards Celestine  II.,  who  was  known  to  be 
a  friend  of  Abelard,  he  writes  in  an  entirely 
new  strain.  "  I  should  do  you  wrong,"  he 
begins,  "  if  I  thought  you  so  loved  any  man 


as  to  embrace  his  errors  also  in  your  affec- 
tion. "  Such  a  love  would  be  animal,  earthly, 
diabolical.  Others  may  say  what  they  like 
of  Guido,  but  Bernard  is  a  man  who  "  never 
judges  anybody  without  proof,"  and  he 
will  not  believe  it.  He  passes  to  a  mild 
complaint  that  "Master  Peter  introduces 
profane  novelties  in  his  book  "  ;  still,  "  it  is 
not  I  that  accuse  him  before  the  Father,  but 
his  own  book."  But  he  cannot  refrain  from 
putting  just  a  little  venenum  in  cauda  ■•  "It 
is  expedient  for  you  and  for  the  Church 
that  silence  be  imposed  on  him  whose 
mouth  is  full  of  curses  and  bitterness  and 
guile." 

Cardinal  Ivo,  on  the  other  hand,  belongs 
to  the  loyal  group.  "  Master  Peter  Abelard," 
he  is  told,  ' '  a  prelate  without  dependency, 
observes  no  order,  and  is  restrained  by 
no  order.  .  .  .  He  is  a  Herod  in  his 
soul,  a  Baptist  in  outward  appearance." 
However,  that  is  not  my  business,  says  the 
diplomatist ;  "  every  man  shall  bear  his  own 
burden. "  Bernard  is  concerned  about  his 
heresies,  and  his  boast  that  he  will  be 


348 


Peter  Ab^lard 


protected  by  a  certain  faction  in  the  curia. 
Ivo  must  do  his  duty  "  in  freeing  the  Church 
from  the  lips  of  the  wicked."    A  young 
unnamed  cardinal  is  appealed  to  for  sup- 
port.    "Let  no  man  despise  thy  youth," 
begins  the  man  who  calls  Ab^lard  a  "slip- 
pery serpent " ;  "  not  grey  hair  but  a  sober 
mind  is  what  God  looks  to."    Another  car- 
dinal, who  had  a  custom  of  rising  when 
any  person  entered  his  room,  is  playfully 
approached  with  a  reminder  of  this:  "If 
thou  art  indeed  a  son  of  the  Church,"  the 
note  ends,   "defend  the  womb  that  has 
borne   thee,    and   the   breasts   that   have 
suckled  thee."    Guido  of  Pisa  receives  a 
similar  appeal :  "If  thou  art  a  son  of  the 
Church,  if  thou  knowest  the  breast  of  thy 
mother,  desert  her  not  in  her  peril."    The 
letter  to  another  Cardinal  Guido  is  particu- 
larly vicious  and  unworthy.    "1  cannot 
but  write  you,"  it  begins,  "  of  the  dishonour 
to  Christ,  the  trials  and  sorrows  of  the 
Church,  the  misery  of  the  helpless,  and 
groans  of  the  poor."    What  is  the  matter  ? 
This :  "  We  have  here  in  France  a  monk 


The  Final  Blow 


349 


who  observes  no  rule,  a  prelate  without 
care,  an  abbot  without  discipline,  one  Peter 
Ab^lard,  who  disputes  with  boys  and  busies 
himself  with  women."    There  is  a  nasty 
ambiguity  in  the  last  phrase.    Again,  "  We 
have  escaped  the  roar  of  the  lion  [Pierleone] 
only  to  hear  the  hissing  of  the  dragon  Peter. 
...  If  the  mouth  of  the  wicked  be  not 
closed,   may  He  who  alone  regards  our 
works  consider  and  condemn."    A  similar 
letter  is  addressed  to  Cardinal  Stephen  of 
Praeneste.    "  I  freely  write  to  you,  whom 
I  know  to  be  a  friend  of  the  spouse,  of  the 
trials  and  sorrows  of  the  spouse  of  Christ. " 
Ab^lard  is  "an  enemy  of  Christ,"  as  is 
proved,  not  only  by  his  works,  but  by  "  his 
life  and  actions."    He  has  "sallied  forth 
from  his  den  like  a  slippery  serpent "  ;  he  is 
"a   hydra,"   growing    seven   new   heads 
where  one  has  been  cut  off.    He  "  misleads 
the  simple,"  and  finally  "boasts  that  he 
has  inoculated  the  Roman  curia  with  the 
poison  of  his  novelty. " 

A  ninth  letter  is  addressed  to  an  abbot 
who  was  in  Rome  at  the  time,  and  who 


350 


Peter  Abdlard 


The  Final  Blow 


351 


is  drawn  into  the  intrigue  with  many  holy 
threats.  'Mf  any  man  is  for  the  Lord  let 
him  take  his  place.  The  truth  is  in  danger. 
Peter  Abelard  has  gone  forth  to  prepare 
the  way  for  Antichrist.  .  .  .  May  God  con- 
sider and  condemn,  if  the  mouth  of  the 
wicked  be  not  closed  forthwith." 

These  letters  were  handed  over,  for  per- 
sonal delivery,  to  Bernard's  monk-secretary, 
Nicholas ;  in  many  of  them  it  is  expressly 
stated  that  the  bearer  will  enlarge  upon  the 
text  more  freely  by  word  of  mouth.  We 
know  enough  about  this  monk  to  be  assured 
of  the  more  than  fidelity  with  which  he  ac- 
complished his  task.  Enjoying  the  full  con- 
fidence of  Bernard  at  that  time,  a  very  able 
and  well-informed  monk,  Nicholas  de  Mon- 
tier-Ramey  was  a  thorough  scoundrel,  as 
Bernard  learned  to  his  cost  a  few  years 
afterwards.  He  had  to  be  convicted  of 
forging  Bernard's  seal  and  hand  for  felon- 
ious purposes  before  the  keen  scent  of  the 
abbot  discovered  his  utter  unscrupulous- 
ness. 

With  Abelard  lingering  at  Paris  in  his 


light-hearted  way,  the  violence  and  energy 
of  Bernard  swept  away  whatever  support  he 
might  have  counted  on  at  Rome.  Through- 
out the  curia  Bernard  had  scattered  his  cari- 
cature of  Abelard  :  a  lawless  monk,  an  abbot 
who  neglected  his  abbey,  a  man  of  immoral 
life,  an  associate  of  the  recognised  enemies 
of  the  papacy,  already  condemned  for  heresy, 
a  reviver  of  Arius  and  Nestorius  and  Pela- 
gius,  a  teacher  without  reverence,  a  dis- 
turber of  the  faith  of  the  simple.  The  Pope 
did  not  hesitate  a  moment ;  the  letters  sent 
to  him  are  masterpieces  of  diplomatic  cor- 
respondence. The  waverers  in  the  curia 
were  most  skilfully  worked.  In  mere  sec- 
ular matters  such  an  attempt  to  corrupt 
the  judges  would  be  fiercely  resented. 
Bernard  lived  in  a  transcendental  region, 
that  Hegelian  land  in  which  contradictions 
disappear. 

It  was  on  the  4th  of  June  that  Abelard 
appealed  to  Rome.  There  were  no  Alpine 
tunnels  in  those  days,  and  the  journey  from 
Paris  to  Rome  was  a  most  formidable  one. 
Yet  Bernard's  nervous  energy  had  infused 


352 


Peter  Ab^lard 


such  spirit  into  the  work,  and  he  had  chosen 
so  able  a  messenger,  that  the  whole  case 
was  ended  in  less  than  seven  weeks.  There 
cannot  have  been  a  moment's  hesitation  at 
Rome.    On  the  i6th  of  July  the  faithful  at 
Rome  gathered  at  the  door  of  St.  Peter's 
for  the  solemn  reading  of  the  decree  of 
excommunication.     The  Pope  was  there 
surrounded  by  his  cardinals,  and  it  was 
announced,    with    the    usual    impressive 
flourishes,  that  Ab^lard's  works  were  con- 
demned to  the  flames  and  his  person  to  be 
imprisoned  by  the  ecclesiastical  authorities 
Rome  has  not  been  a  model  of  the  humane 
use  of  power,  but  she  has  rarely  condemned 
a  man  unheard.    On  the  sole  authority  of 
Bernard  the  decree  recognised  in  Ab^lard's 
"pernicious   doctrine"   the   already   con- 
demned  errors   of  the  early  heresiarchs 
Arnold  of  Brescia,  who  had  not  been  offi- 
cially  indicted,  was  included  in  the  con- 
demnation.   It  was  Bernard's  skilful  use  of 
his  association  with  Ab^lard  which  chiefly 
impelled  the  Pope.    Innocent  replies  to  Ber- 
nard's appeal  by  sending  back  to  him  the 


The  Final  Blow 


353 


decree  of  the  condemnation  of  his  antag- 
onist, with  a  private  note  to  the  effect  that  it 
must  not  be  published  until  after  it  has  been 
read  at  an  approaching  synod. 


«3 


Consummatum  Est 


355 


mm- 


I 


i 


W 


Chapter  XIV 

Consummatum  Est 

IT  was  well  for  Bernard's  cause  that  he  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  the  decree  without 
delay.  He  had  carefully  represented  that 
the  whole  of  France  supported  him  in  his 
demand.  It  does  seem  as  if  some  of  Ab^- 
lard's  friends  were  puzzled  for  a  time  by  his 
appeal,  but  before  long  there  came  a  reac- 
tion in  his  favour,  just  as  had  happened 
after  his  condemnation  at  Soissons.  Ber- 
nard himself  may  have  been  perfectly  self- 
justified  in  his  determined  effort  to  prevent 
Ab^lard  from  having  a  fair  chance  of  defend- 
ing himself,  but  there  are  two  ways  of  re- 
garding his  conduct.'     Ab^lard's  followers 

•  I  abstain  from  commenting  on  St.  Bernard's  conduct,  or  making 
the  ethical  and  psychological  analysis  of  it,  which  is  so  imperfectly 
done  by  his  biographers  at  this  period,  because  they  do  not  fully  state 
the  facts,  or  not  in  their  natural  order.  It  would  be  a  fascinating  task, 
but  one  beside  the  purpose  of  the  present  work  and  not  discreet  for  the 
present  writer.     I  have  let  Bernard  speak  for  himself. 

3S4 


naturally  adopted  the  view  which  was  less 
flattering  to  Bernard's  reputation,  and  they 
seem  to  have  had  some  success  in  enforcing 
it.  In  a  letter  of  Bernard's  to  a  certain  car- 
dinal we  find  him  defending  himself  against 
the  charge  of  "  having  obtained  the  decree 
by  improper    means  \subripere\  from  the 

Pope." 

One  of  the  chief  instruments  in  the  agita- 
tion on  the  Ab^lardist  side  was  the  apology 
of  Berenger  of  Poitiers,    which  we  have 
quoted  previously.    Violent  and  coarse  as 
it  was,  it  was  known  to  have  a  foundation 
of  fact ;  and,  in  the  growing  unpopularity 
of  Bernard,  it  had  a  wide  circulation.    It 
was  not  answered,  as  the  Benedictines  say  ; 
yet  we  may  gather  from  B^renger's  qualified 
withdrawal  of  it,  when  he  is  hard  pressed, 
that  it  gave  Bernard  and  the  Cistercians  a 
good  deal  of  annoyance.    Arnold  of  Brescia 
was,  meanwhile,  repeating  his  fulminations 
at  Paris   against    the    whole   hierarchical 
system.    He  had  taken  Ab^lard's  late  chair, 
in  the  chapel  of  St.  Hilary  on  the  slope  of 
Ste.  Genevieve,  and  was   sustaining  the 


I 


356 


Peter  Abelard 


Consummatum  Est 


357 


t 


m 


school  until  the  master  should  return  from 
Rome  in  triumph.    But  Arnold  had  no  hope 
of  any  good  being  done  at  Rome,  and  rather 
preached  rebellion  against  the  whole  of  the 
bejewelled  prelates.    Sternly  ascetic  in  his 
life  and  ideals— St.  Bernard  scoffingly  ap- 
plies  to  him  the  evangelical  description  of 
the  Baptist:  '*  He  ate  not,  neither  did  he 
drink  "—he  was  ever  contrasting  the  luxu- 
rious life  of  the  pastors  of  the  Church  with 
the  simple  ideal  of  early  Christianity.    He 
had  not  such  success  in  France  as  else- 
where, and  Bernard  secured  his  expulsion  a 
few  years  later.    But  the  same  stern  denun- 
ciation was  on  his  noble  lips  when  the 
savage  flames  sealed  them  forever,  under 
the  shadow  of  St.  Peter's,  in  1155. 

Aboard  himself  seems  to  have  taken  mat- 
ters with  a  fatal  coolness,  whilst  his  ad- 
versary was  moving  heaven  and  earth  to 
destroy  him.  He  allowed  a  month  or  two 
to  elapse  before  he  turned  in  the  direction 
of  Rome.'    Secure  in  the  consciousness  of 

'  He  did,  however,  write  an  "  apology  "  or  defence,  but  only  a  few 
fragments  of  it  survive. 


the  integrity  of  his  cause  and  his  own 
power  of  pleading,  and  presuming  too 
much  on  Rome's  proud  boast  that  it  ''  con- 
demned no  man  unheard,"  he  saw  no  oc- 
casion for  hurry.  Late  in  the  summer  he 
set  out  upon  his  long  journey.  It  was  his 
purpose  to  travel  through  Burgundy  and 
Lyons,  and  to  cross  the  Alps  by  the  pass 
which  was  soon  to  bear  the  name  of  his 
energetic  enemy.  After  the  fashion  of  all 
travellers  of  the  time  he  rested  at  night  in 
the  monastery  nearest  to  the  spot  where 
he  was  overtaken.  Thus  it  came  to  pass 
that,  when  he  arrived  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Macon,  he  sought  hospitality  of  the 
great  and  venerable  Benedictine  abbey  at 
Cluny. 

Peter  the  Venerable,  Abbot  of  Cluny,  was 
the  second  monk  in  France  at  that  time.  A 
few  degrees  lower  in  the  scale  of  neural 
intensity  than  his  canonised  rival,  he  far 
surpassed  him  in  the  less-exalted  virtues 
of  kindliness,  humanity,  and  moderation. 
''The  rule  of  St.  Benedict,"  he  once  wrote 
to  Bernard,  'Ms  dependent  on  the  sublime 


ipl 


358 


Peter  Abelard 


Consummatum  Est 


359 


general  law  of  charity  "  ;  that  was  not  the 
route  to  the  honour  of  canonisation.  He 
belonged  by  birth  to  the  illustrious  family 
of  the  Montboissiers  of  Auvergne,  and  was 
a  man  of  culture,  fine  and  equable  temper, 
high  principle,  gentle  and  humane  feeling, 
and  much  practical  wisdom.  He  had  had 
more  than  one  controversy  with  the  Abbot 
of  Clairvaux,  and  his  influence  was  under- 
stood to  counterbalance  that  of  Bernard  at 
times  in  the  affairs  of  the  Church  and  the 
kingdom. 

It  was,  therefore,  one  of  the  few  fortunate 
accidents  of  his  career  that  brought  Abelard 
to  Cluny  at  that  time.  Abbot  Peter  knew 
that  Bernard  had  actually  in  his  possession 
the  papal  decree  which  ordered  the  impris- 
onment of  Abelard  and  the  burning  of  his 
books.  He  had  a  deep  sympathy  for  the 
ageing  master  who  was  seeking  a  new 
triumph  in  Rome  under  such  peculiarly  sad 
circumstances.  Peter  knew  well  how  little 
the  question  of  heresy  really  counted  for  in 
the  matter.  It  was  a  question  of  Church 
politics ;  and  he  decided  to  use  his  influence 


for  the  purpose  of  securing  a  tranquil  close 
for  the  embittered  and  calumniated  life. 
Abelard  was  beginning  to  feel  the  exactions 
of  his  journey,  and  remained  some  days  at 
the  abbey.  The  abbot,  as  he  afterwards 
informs  the  Pope,  spoke  with  him  about  his 
purpose,  and  at  length  informed  him  that 
the  blow  had  already  fallen.  It  was  the 
last  and  decisive  blow.  The  proud  head 
never  again  raised  itself  in  defiance  of  the 
potent  ignorance,  the  crafty  passion,  and 
the  hypocrisy  that  made  up  the  world  about 
him.  He  was  too  much  enfeebled,  too 
much  dispirited,  even  to  repeat  the  blas- 
phemy of  his  earlier  experience:  "Good 
jesus,  where  art  Thou  ?  "  For  the  first  and 
last  time  he  bowed  to  the  mystery  of  the 
triumph  of  evil. 

Abbot  Peter  then  undertook  the  task  of 
averting  the  consequence  of  Bernard's 
triumph,  and  found  little  difficulty  in  direct- 
ing the  fallen  man.  It  was  imperative,  in 
the  first  place,  to  effect  some  form  of  recon- 
ciliation between  the  great  antagonists,  so 
as  to  disarm  the  hostility  of  Bernard.    We 


36o 


Peter  Abelard 


Consummatum  Est 


361 


i 
,.   If. 


',! 


shortly  find  Raynard,  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux, 
at  Cluny,  and  Abelard  accompanies  him 
back  to   his   abbey.    Peter  has   obtained 
from  him  a  formal  promise  to  correct  any- 
thing in  his  works  that  maybe  "offensive 
to  pious  ears,"  and  on  this  basis  Bernard  is 
invited  to  a  reconciliation  at  Citeaux.    A 
few  days   afterwards  Abelard   returns  to 
Cluny  with  the   laconic   reply  that  they 
"had  had  a  peaceful  encounter,"  as  the 
abbot  informs  the  Pope,  to  whom  he  imme- 
diately writes   for  permission   to   receive 
Abelard  into  their  community  at  Cluny, 
adding,  with  a  calm  contempt  of  the  ac- 
cusation of  heresy,  that  "  Brother  Peter's 
knowledge  "  will  be  useful  to  the  brethren. 
The  Abbot  of  Cluny  had  claims  upon  the 
Pope's  consideration.    Although  the  anti- 
pope,  Anacletus,  had  been  a  monk  of  Cluny, 
Peter  had  been  the  first  to  meet  Innocent 
when  he  came  to  France  for  support.    In 
pointed  terms  he  begged  that  Abelard  "  might 
not  be  driven  away  or  troubled  by  the  im- 
portunity  of  any  persons."    His  request 
was  granted ;  and  thus  the  broken  spirit 


was  spared  that  "public  humiliation"  in 
France  that  Bernard  had  demanded. 

The  basis  of  reconciliation  with  Bernard 
was  probably  a  second  and  shorter  apology 
which  Abelard  wrote  at  Cluny.  It  was 
convenient  to  regard  this  at  the  time  as  a 
retraction.  In  reality  it  is  for  the  most  part 
a  sharp  rejection  of  Bernard's  formulation 
of  his  theses  and  a  new  enunciation  of  them 
in  more  orthodox  phraseology.  His  frame 
of  mind  appears  in  the  introductory  note. 

"There  is  a  familiar  proverb  that  'Nothing  is  said 
so  well  that  it  cannot  be  perverted,'  and,  as  St. 
Jerome  says,  'He  who  writes  many  books  invites 
many  judges.'  I  also  have  written  a  few  things— 
though  little  in  comparison  with  others— and  have 
not  succeeded  in  escaping  censure ;  albeit  in  those 
things  for  which  1  am  so  gravely  charged,  I  am  con- 
scious of  no  fault,  nor  should  I  obstinately  defend  it, 
if  I  were.  It  may  be  that  I  have  erred  in  my  writings, 
but  I  call  God  to  witness  and  to  judge  in  my  soul 
that  I  have  written  nothing  through  wickedness  or 
pride  of  those  things  for  which  I  am  chiefly  blamed." 

Then,  warmly  denying  Bernard's  charge 
that  he  has  ever  taught  a  secret  doctrine,  he 
passes  to  a  detailed  profession  of  faith  on 
the  lines  of  Bernard's  list  of  errors.    With 


•f 


—nw'wfmr 


362 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


Consummatum  Est 


363 


I! 


regard  to  the  Trinity  he  denies  all  the  here- 
sies ascribed  to  him  ;  this  he  could  do  with 
perfect  justice.     On   the  other  points  he 
makes  distinctions,  adds  explanations  and 
qualifications,  and  even  sometimes  accepts 
Bernard's  thesis   without  remark,  though 
one  can  generally  see  a  reserve  in  the  back- 
ground.   Thus,  on  the  question  of  sin  com- 
mitted in  ignorance,  he  makes  the  familiar 
modern  distinction  between  culpable  and 
inculpable  ignorance :  he  admits  that  we 
have  inherited  Adam's  sin,  but  adds  "be- 
cause his  sin  is  the  source  and  cause  of  all 
our  sins."    On  the  question  of  the  preven- 
tion of  evil  by  God,  he  merely  says,  "Yes, 
He  often  does  "  ;  and  so  forth.    The  only 
sentence  which  looks  like  a  real  retractation 
is  that  in  which  he  grants  "the  power  of 
the  keys "  to  all  the  clergy.     In  this  he 
clearly  dissociates  himself  from  Arnold  of 
Brescia,  and  perplexes  his  friends.    But  his 
earlier  teaching  on  the  point  is  by  no  means 
so  clear  and  categorical  as  that  of  Arnold, 
There  is  nothing  either  very  commendable 
or  very  condemnable  about  the  document. 


It  probable  represents  a  grudging  concession 
to  the  Abbot  of  Cluny's  friendly  pressure 
and  counsel  to  withdraw  from  what  was 
really  only  a  heated  quarrel  with  as  little 
friction  as  possible.  That  Abelard  was  not 
in  the  penitent  mood  some  writers  discover 
in  the  letter,  is  clear  from  the  peroration. 

"My  friend  [!]  has  concluded  his  list  of  errors  with 
the  remark  :  '  They  are  found  partly  in  Master  Peter's 
book  of  theology,  partly  in  his  Sentences,  and  partly 
in  his  Scito  te  Ipsum.'  But  1  have  never  written  a 
book  of  Sentences,  and  therefore  the  remark  is  due  to 
the  same  malice  or  ignorance  as  the  errors  them- 
selves." 

However,  the  document  had  a  sufficient 
air  of  retractation  about  it  to  allow  Bernard  to 
withdraw.  In  substance  and  spirit  it  was,  as 
its  name  indicated,  an  apology,  not  a  retrac- 
tation. In  fact,  Bernard's  zealous  secretary 
and  an  unknown  abbot  attacked  the  apology, 
but  Abelard  made  no  reply,  and  the  discus- 
sion slowly  died  away.  Bernard  had  won 
a  political  triumph,  and  he  showed  a  becom- 
ing willingness  to  rest  content  with  empty 
assurances.  Ab^lard's  personal  force  was 
dead  ;  little  eagerness  was  shown  to  pursue 


fHp' 


364 


Peter  Abelard 


the  seminal  truths  he  had  left  behind,  and 
which  were  once  thought  so  abhorrent  and 
pernicious.    Later  Benedictines  virtually  ad- 
mit the  justice  of  this.    Mabillon  says :  "  We 
do  not  regard  Abelard  as  a  heretic ;  it  is  suf- 
ficient for  the  defence  of  Bernard  to  admit 
that  he  erred  in  certain  things. "  .  And  the 
historian  Noel  Alexandre  also  says,   "He 
must  not  be  regarded  as  a  heretic."  Indeed, 
Bernard  was  strongly  condemned  at  the  time 
by  English  and  German  writers.     Otto  of 
Freising  reproves  his  action  in  the  cases  of 
both  Abelard  and  Gilbert,  and  attributes  it 
to  defects  of  character.    John  of  Salisbury 
severely  criticises  him  in  the  Historia  Ponti- 
ficalis;  and  Walter  Map,  another  English 
writer,  voices  the  same  widespread  feeling. 
Another  document  that  Abelard  sent  out 
from  Cluny  forms  the  last  page  of  his  inter- 
course with  Heloise.     If  he  had  wearily 
turned  away  from  the  strange  drama  of  life, 
his  affection  for  her  survives  the  disillusion 
in  all  its  force.    There  is  a  welcome  tender- 
ness in  his  thought  of  her  amidst  the  crush- 
ing desolation  that  has  fallen  upon  him. 


Consummatum  Est 


365 


She  shall  not  be  hurt  by  any  unwilling  im- 
pression of  persistent  calumny.  He  writes 
to  her  a  most  affectionate  letter,  and  in 
the  sanctuary  of  their  love  makes  a  solemn 
profession  of  the  purity  of  his  faith. 

"My  sister  Heloise,  once  dear  to  me  in  the  world, 
and  now  most  dear  in  Ciirist,  logic  has  brought  the 
enmity  of  men  upon  me.  For  there  are  certain  per- 
verse calumniators,  whose  wisdom  leads  to  perdition, 
that  say  I  take  pre-eminence  in  logic  but  fail  egregi- 
ously  in  the  interpretation  of  Paul ;  commending  my 
ability,  they  would  deny  me  the  purity  of  Christian 
faith.  ...  I  would  not  rank  as  a  philosopher  if 
it  implied  any  error  in  faith  ;  I  would  not  be  an  Aris- 
totle if  it  kept  me  away  from  Christ.  For  no  other 
name  is  given  to  me  under  heaven  in  which  1  may 
find  salvation.  I  adore  Christ,  sitting  at  the  right  hand 
of  the  Father." 

Then  follows  a  brief  confession  of  faith  on 
the  chief  points  of  Christian  belief — the 
Trinity,  the  Incarnation,  baptism,  penance, 
and  the  resurrection.  "  And  that  all  anxiety 
and  doubt  maybe  excluded  from  thy  heart/' 
he  concludes,  "  do  thou  hold  this  concern- 
ing me,  I  have  grounded  my  conscience  on 
that  rock  on  which  Christ  has  built  His 
Church." 


366 


Peter  Ab^Iard 


Consummatum  Est 


367 


It  was  AMIard's  farewell  to  her  who  had 
shared  so  much  of  the  joy  and  the  bitterness 
of  his  life.    But  what  a  different  man  it  re- 
calls through  the  mists  of  time  from  the 
"dragon  "of  Bernard's  letters!    One  con- 
trast at  least  we  cannot  fail  to  note  between 
the  saint  and  the  sinner.     We  have  seen 
Bernard's    treatment  of  Ab^lard ;   in  this 
private  letter,  evidently  intended  for  no  eye 
but  that  of  his  wife,  we  have  the  sole  re- 
corded utterance  of  Ab^lard  on  the  man, 
who,  for   so  little   reason,  shattered   the 
triumph  and  the  peace  of  his  closing  years. 
For  if  there  is  a  seeming  peace  about  the 
few  months  of  life  that  still  remained  to  the 
great  teacher,  it  is  the  peace  of  the  grave— 
the  heavy  peace  that  shrouds  a  dead  ambi- 
tion and  a  broken  spirit,  not  the  glad  peace 
that  adorns  requited  labour  and  successful 
love.    Ab^lard  enters  upon  a  third  stage  of 
his  existence,  and  the  shadow  of  the  tomb 
is  on  it.    He  becomes  a  monk ;  he  centres 
all  his  thoughts  on  the  religious  exercises 
that,  like  the  turns  of  the   prayer  wheel, 
write  the  long  catalogue  of  merit  in  heaven.' 


In  the  abbey  of  Cluny,  under  the  adminis- 
tration of  Peter  the  Venerable,  he  found  all 
that  his  soul  desired  in  its  final  stage.  The 
vast  monastery  had  a  community  of  four 
hundred  and  sixty  monks.  Older  than  its 
rival,  Citeaux,  possessed  of  great  wealth  and 
one  of  the  finest  churches  in  France,  it 
was  eagerly  sought  by  monastic  aspirants. 
When  Innocent  II.  came  to  France  for  sup- 
port, Cluny  sent  sixty  horses  and  mules  to 
meet  him,  and  entertained  him  and  all  his 
followers  for  eleven  days.  At  an  earlier 
date  it  had  lodged  pope,  king,  and  emperor, 
with  all  their  followers,  without  displacing 
a  single  monk.  Yet,  with  all  its  wealth  and 
magnitude,  the  abbey  maintained  a  strict 
observance  of  the  Rule  of  St.  Benedict.  Peter 
was  too  cultured  and  humanistic^  for  the 
Cistercians,  who  often  criticised  the  half- 
heartedness  of  his  community.  In  point  of 
fact,  a  strict  order  and  discipline  were  main- 
tained in  the  abbey,  and  Ab^lard  entered 
fervently  into  its  life.    From  their  beds  of 

*  Amongst  other  humane  modifications,  we  may  note  that  he  raised 
the  age  of  admission  to  the  abbey  to  twenty-one. 


368 


Peter  Ab^lard 


straw  the  monks  would  rise  at  midnight 
and  proceed  to  the  church,  where  they 
would  chant  their  long,  dirge-like  matins, 
and  remain  in  meditation  until  dawn. 
Work,  study,  and  prayer  filled  up  the  long 
hours ;  and  at  night  they  would  cast  them- 
selves down,  just  as  they  were,  on  the  bags 
of  straw,  to  rise  again  on  the  morrow  for  the 
same  task.  Such  monks  — they  are  rare 
now,  though  far  from  extinct— must  be  men 
of  one  idea  —  heaven.  To  that  stage  had 
Ab^lard  sunk. 

Years  afterwards,  the  brothers  used  to 
point  out  to  visitors— for  Abelard  had  left 
a  repute  for  sanctity  behind  him— a  great 
lime-tree  under  which  he  used  to  sit  and 
read  between  exercises.  Peter  had  gone 
so  far  as  to  make  him  prior  of  the  studies 
of  the  brethren,  so  lightly  did  he  hold  the 
charge  of  heresy.  The  abbot  has  given 
us,  in  a  later  letter  to  Heloise,  an  enthusias- 
tic picture,  drawn  from  the  purely  Buddhist 
point  of  view,  of  Ab^lard's  closing  days. 
With  a  vague  allusion  to  this  letter  certain 
ecclesiastical  writers  represent  Abelard  as 


Consummatum  Est 


369 


a  sinner  up  to  the  time  of  the  Council  of 
Sens,  and  a  convert  and  penitent  in  the  brief 
subsequent  period.    In  point  of  fact  there 
was  little  change  in  the  soul  of  the  fallen 
man,  beyond  a  weary  resignation  of  his 
hope  of  cleansing  the  Church,  involving, 
as  this  did,  a  more  constant  preoccupation 
with  the  world  to  come.    The  abbot  says, 
in  support  of  his  declaration  that  Abelard 
had  cast  a  radiance  on  their  abbey,  that 
"not  a  moment  passed  but  he  was  either 
praying  or  reading  or  writing  or  compos- 
ing "  ;  and  again  :  "  If  I  mistake  not,  I  never 
saw  his  equal  in  lowliness  of  habit  and  con- 
duct, so  much  so  that  Germain  did  not 
seem  more  humble  nor  Martin  poorer  than 
he  to  those  who  were  of  good  discernment." 
The  "good  discernment"  reminds  us  that 
we  must  not  take  at  too  literal  a  value  this 
letter  of  comfort  to  the  widowed  abbess. 
Abelard  had  been  an  ascetic  and  a  devout 
man  since  his  frightful  experience  at  Paris 
twenty-five  years  previously.  With  the  fad- 
ing of  his  interest  in  the  things  of  earth,  and 
in  his  sure  consciousness  of  approaching 


»4 


370 


Peter  Abelard 


Consummatum  Est 


371 


death,  his  prayers  would  assuredly  be  longer 
and  his  indifference  to  comfort  and  honour 
more  pronounced. 

But  we  have  a  clear  indication  that  there 
was  no  change  in  his  thoughts,  even  in  that 
last  year,  with  regard  to  the  great  work  of 
his  life  and  the  temper  of  his  opponents. 
During  the  quiet  months  of  teaching  at 
Cluny ,  a  certain  ' '  Dagobert  and  his  nephew  " 
asked  him  for  a  copy  of  his  dialectical  treat- 
ise, one  of  his  earliest  writings.    It  is  im- 
possible to  say  whether  this  Dagobert  was 
his  brother  at  Nantes  (where  Astrolabe  also 
seems  to  have  lived)  or  a  monastic  ''  Brother 
Dagobert. ''  Most  probably  it  was  the  former, 
because  he  speaks  of  the  effort  it  costs  him, 
ill  and  weary  of  writing  as  he  is,  to  respond 
to  their  ''affection."    He  does  not  copy, 
but  rewrites  his  dialectics,  so  that  we  have 
in  the  work  his  last  attitude  on  his  studies 
and  his  struggles.    It  is  entirely  unchanged. 
Jealousy,  hatred,  and  ignorance  are  the  sole 
sources  of  the  hostility  to  his  work.    They 
say  he  should   have  confined   himself  to 
dialectics  (as  Otto  von  Freising  said  later)  ; 


f 


but  he  points  out  that  his  enemies  quar- 
relled even  with  his  exclusive  attention  to 
dialectics,  firstly,  because  it  had  no  direct 
relation  to  faith,  and  secondly,  because  it 
was  indirectly  destructive  of  faith.  He  has 
still  the  old  enthusiasm  for  reason  and  for 
the  deepening  and  widening  of  our  natural 
knowledge.  Both  knowledge  and  faith 
come  from  God,  and  cannot  contradict  each 
other.  It  was  the  last  gleam  of  the  dying 
light,  but  it  was  wholly  unchanged  in  its 

purity. 

With  the  approach  of  spring  the  abbot 
sent  the  doomed  man  to  a  more  friendly 
and  familiar  climate.  Cluny  had  a  priory 
outside  the  town  of  Chalon-sur-Saone,  not 
far  from  the  bank  of  the  river.  It  was  one 
of  the  most  pleasant  situations  in  Burgundy, 
in  the  mild  valley  of  the  Seine,  which  Abe- 
lard had  learned  to  love.  But  the  last 
struggle  had  exhausted  his  strength,  and 
the  disease,  variously  described  as  a  fever 
and  a  disease  of  the  skin,  met  with  little 
resistance.  He  died  on  the  21st  of  April, 
1 142,  in  the  sixty-third  year  of  his  age. 


i72 


Peter  Ab^lard 


How  deeply  he  had  impressed  the  monks 
of  St.  Marcellus  during  his  brief  stay  with 
them  becomes  apparent  in  the  later  history, 
which  recalls  the  last  chapter  in  the  lives  of 
some  of  the  most  popular  saints.    It  will  be 
remembered  that  Ab^lard  had,  in  one  of  his 
letters  to  Heloise,  asked  that  his  body  might 
be  buried  at  the  Paraclete,  "  for  he  knew  no 
place  that  was  safer  or  more  salutary  for  a 
sorrowing   soul."     Heloise    informed   the 
Abbot  of  Cluny  of  the   request,  and  he 
promised  to  see  it  fulfilled.    But  he  found 
that  the  monks  of  St.  Marcellus  were  vio- 
lently opposed  to  the  idea  of  robbing  them  of 
the  poor  body  that  had  been  hunted  from  end 
to  end  of  France  whilst  the  great  mind  yet 
dwelt  in  it.    There  have  often  been  such 
quarrels,  sometimes  leading  to  bloodshed, 
over  the  bodies  of  the  saints.    However,' 
the  abbot  found  a  means  to  steal  the  body 
from  the  monastery  chapel  in  the  month  of 
November,  and  had  it  conveyed  secretly, 
under  his  personal  conduct,  to  the  Paraclete. 
We  have  a  letter  which  was  written  by 
the  abbot  about  this  time  to  Heloise.    I 


Consummatum  Est 


373 


have  already  quoted  the  portion  in  which 
he  consoles  her  with  a  picture  of  the  edify- 
ing life  and  death  of  her  husband.  The 
first  part  of  the  letter  is  even  more  inter- 
esting in  its  testimony  to  the  gifts  and 
character  of  the  abbess  herself.  Peter  the 
Venerable  was,  it  will  be  remembered,  a 
noble  of  high  origin,  an  abbot  of  great  and 
honourable  repute,  a  man  of  culture  and 
sober  judgment. 

"  For  in  truth,"  he  says,  after  an  allusion 
to  some  gifts— probably  altar-work— that 
she  had  sent  him, 

"my  affection  for  thee  is  not  of  recent  growth,  but 
of  long  standing.  I  had  hardly  passed  the  bounds  of 
youth,  hardly  come  to  man's  estate,  when  the  repute, 
if  not  yet  of  thy  religious  fervour,  at  least  of  thy 
becoming  and  praiseworthy  studies,  reached  my  ears. 
I  remember  hearing  at  that  time  of  a  woman  who, 
though  still  involved  in  the  toils  of  the  world,  devoted 
herself  to  letters  and  to  the  pursuit  of  wisdom,  which 
is  a  rare  occurrence.  ...  In  that  pursuit  thou 
hast  not  only  excelled  amongst  women,  but  there  are 
few  men  whom  thou  hast  not  surpassed." 

He  passes  to  the  consideration  of  her  re- 
ligious "  vocation,"  in  which,  of  course,  he 


374 


Peter  Ab^lard 


discovers  a  rich  blessing.  "  These  things, 
dearest  sister  in  the  Lord,"  he  concludes, 
"  I  say  by  way  of  exhortation,  not  of  flat- 
tery." Then,  after  much  theological  and 
spiritual  discussion,  he  says : 

"  It  would  be  grateful  to  me  to  hold  long  converse 
with  thee  on  these  matters,  because  1  not  only  take 
pleasure  in  thy  renowned  erudition,  but  I  am  even 
more  attracted  by  that  piety  of  which  so  many 
speak  to  me.  Would  that  thou  didst  dwell  at 
Cluny  ! " 

This  is  the  one  woman  (and  wife,  to  boot) 
to  whom  Bernard  could  have  referred  in 
justification  of  his  equivocal  remark  to  a 
stranger  that  Ab^lard  "  busied  himself  with 
women."  We  have,  however,  little  further 
record  of  the  life  of  the  unfortunate  Heloise. 
Shortly  after  the  body  9f  her  husband  has 
been  buried  in  the  crypt  of  their  convent- 
chapel,  we  find  her  applying  to  Peter  of 
Cluny  for  a  written  copy  of  the  absolution 
of  Abelard.  The  abbot  sent  it ;  and  for 
long  years  the  ashes  of  the  great  master 
were  guarded  from  profanation  by  this  pitiful 
certificate  of  his  orthodoxy.    In  the  same 


Consummatum  Est 


375 


letter  Heloise  thanks  the  abbot  for  a  promise 
that  the  abbey  of  Cluny  will  chant  the  most 
solemn  rites  of  the  Church  when  her  own 
death  is  announced  to  them  ;  she  also  asks 
Peter's  favourable  influence  on  behalf  of 
Astrolabe,  her  son,  who  has  entered  the 
service  of  the  Church. 

Heloise  survived  her  husband  by  twenty- 
one  years.  There  is  a  pretty  legend  in  the 
Chronicle  of  the  Church  of  Tours  that  the 
tomb  of  Abelard  was  opened  at  her  death 
and  her  remains  laid  in  it,  and  that  the  arms 
of  the  dead  man  opened  wide  to  receive  her 
whose  embrace  the  hard  world  had  denied 
him  in  life.  It  seems  to  have  been  at  a  later 
date  that  their  ashes  were  really  com- 
mingled. At  the  Revolution,  the  Paraclete 
was  secularised,  and  the  remains  of  hus- 
band and  wife  began  a  series  of  removals 
in  their  great  sarcophagus.  In  1817,  they 
found  a  fitting  rest  in  P^re  Lachaise. 


The  Influence  of  Ab^lard        377 


Chapter  XV 

The  Influence  of  Abdlard 

IF  the  inquirer  into  the  influence  of  the 
famous  dialectician  could  content  him- 
self with  merely  turning  from  the  study  of 
Ab^lard's  opinions  to  the  towering  structure 
of  modern  Catholic  theology,  he  would  be 
tempted  to  exclaim,  in  the  words  of  a 
familiar  epitaph,   "Si  monumentum  quce- 
ris,circumspice."     Ab^lard's  most  charac- 
teristic  principles   are   now  amongst  the 
accepted  foundations  of  dogmatic  theology  ; 
most,  or,  at  all  events,  a  large  number,  of 
the  conclusions  that  brought  such  wrath 
about  him  in  the  twelfth  century  are  now 
calmly  taught  in  the  schools  of  Rome  and 
Louvain    and   Freiburg.     Bernardism    has 
been  almost  banished  from  the  courts  of  the 
temple.    The  modern  theologian  could  not 
face  the  modern  world  with  the  thoughts 

376 


of  the  saint  whose  bones  are  treasured  in 
a  thousand  jewelled  reliquaries  ;  he  must 
speak  the  thoughts  of  the  heretic,  who 
lies  by  the  side  of  his  beloved,  amidst 
the  soldiers  and  statesmen,  the  actresses 
and  courtesans,  of  Paris.  The  great  po- 
litical organisation  that  once  found  it  ex- 
pedient to  patronise  Bernardism  has  now 
taken  the  spirit  of  Abelard  into  the  very 
heart  of  its  official  teaching. 

There  are  few  in  England  who  will  read 
such  an  assertion  without  a  feeling  of  per- 
plexity if  not  incredulity.  Far  and  wide 
over  the  realm  of  theology  has  the  spirit 
of  Abelard  breathed  ;  and  ever-widening 
spheres  of  Evangelicalism,  Deism,  Panthe- 
ism, and  Agnosticism  mark  its  growth.  But 
it  is  understood  that  Rome  has  resisted  the 
spirit  of  Rationalism,  and  to-day,  as  ever, 
bids  human  reason  bow  in  submission  be- 
fore the  veiled  mysteries  of  "the  deposit 

of  revelation." 

Yet  the  assertion  involves  no  strain  or 
ingenuity  of  interpretation  of  Catholic  theo- 
logy.   The  notion  that  Rome  rebukes  the 


378 


Peter  Abfelard 


imperious  claims  of  reason  is  one  of  a  num- 
ber of  strangely  enduring  fallacies  concern- 
ing that  Church.  The  truth  of  our  thesis 
can  be  swiftly  and  clearly  established.  The 
one  essential  source  of  the  antagonism  of 
St.  Bernard  and  Abelard  was  the  question 
of  the  relations  of  faith  and  reason.  "  Faith 
precedes  intellect,"  said  the  Cistercian  ; 
"Reason  precedes  faith,"  said  the  Bene- 
dictine. All  other  quarrels  were  secondary 
and  were  cognate  to  their  profound  and 
irreconcilable  opposition  on  this  point.  M. 
Guizot  adds  a  second  fundamental  opposi- 
tion on  the  ethical  side.  This,  however, 
was  certainly  of  a  secondary  importance. 
Few  historians  hesitate  to  regard  the  famous 
struggle  as  being  in  the  main  a  dispute  over 
the  rights  and  duties  of  reason. 

Turn  then  from  the  pontificate  of  Innocent 
II.  to  that  of  Pius  IX.  and  of  Leo  XIII. 
Towards  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
Huet,  Bishop  of  Avranches,  began  to  meet 
rationalistic  attacks  with  a  belittlement  of 
human  reason.  The  idea  found  favour  with  a 
class  of  apologists.    De  Bonald,  Bonetty, 


The  Influence  of  Abelard        379 

Bautain,   and   others  in  France,  and  the 
Louvain  theologians  in  Belgium,  came  en- 
tirely to  repudiate  the  interference  of  reason 
with  regard  to  higher  truths,  saying  that  their 
acceptance  was  solely  a  matter  of  faith  and 
tradition.     Well,  the  Church  of  Rome  (to 
which  all  belonged)  descended  upon  the  new 
sect  with  a  remarkable  severity.     Phrases 
that  were  purely  Bernardist  in  form  and  sub- 
stance were  rigorously  condemned.     The 
French  "Traditionalists"  were  forced  to  sub- 
scribe to  (amongst  others)  the  following 
significant  proposition  :  "The  use  of  reason 
precedes  faith  and  leads  up  to  it,  with  the  aid 
of  revelation  and  grace. "  It  was  the  principle 
which  Abelard's  whole  life  was  spent  in  vindi- 
cating. The  Louvain  men  wriggled  for  many 
months  under  the  heel  of  Rome.    They  were 
not  suffered  to  rest  until  they  had  cast  away 
the  last  diluted  element  of  their  theory. 

The  episode  offers  a  very  striking  exhibi- 
tion of  the  entire  change  of  front  of  Rome 
with  regard  to  "the  rights  of  reason." 
There  are  many  other  official  utterances  in 
the  same  sense.     An  important  provincial 


38o 


Peter  Abdiard 


council,  held  at  Cologne  in  i860,  and  fully 
authorised,  discussed  the  question  at  length. 
''We  have  no  faith,''  it  enacted,  ''until  we 
have  seen  with  our  reason  that  God  is  wor- 
thy of  credence  and  that  He  has  spoken  to 
us";  and  again,  "The  firmness  of  faith  .  .  . 
requires  that  he  who  believes  must  have  a 
preliminary  rational  certitude  of  the  exist- 
ence of  God  and  the  fact  of  a  revelation 
having  come  from  Him,  and  he  must  have 
no  prudent  doubt  on  the  matter."  In  the 
Encyclical  of  1846,  even  Pius  IX.  insisted 
on  the  same  principle:  "Human  reason, 
to  avoid  the  danger  of  deception  and 
error,  must  diligently  search  out  the  fact 
of  a  divine  revelation,  and  must  attain  a 
certainty  that  the  message  comes  from 
God,  so  that,  as  the  Apostle  most  wisely 
ordains,  it  may  offer  Him  a  'reasonable 
service.' "  The  Vatican  Council  of  1870  was 
equally  explicit.  The  modern  Catholic  theo- 
logian, in  his  treatise  on  faith,  invariably 
defines  it  as  an  intellectual  act,  an  acceptance 
of  truths  after  a  satisfactory  rational  inquiry 
into  the  authority  that  urges  them.    It  is 


The  Influence  of  Abelard        381 

official  Catholic  teaching  that  faith  is  impos- 
sible without  a  previous  rational  certitude. 
Moreover,  the  theologian  admits  that  every 
part  and  particle  of  the  dogmatic  system 
must  meet  the  criticism  of  reason.  In  the 
positive  sense  it  is  indispensable  that  reason 
prove  the  existence  of  God,  the  authority 
of  God,  and  the  divinity  of  the  Scriptures. 
In  the  negative  sense,  no  single  dogma  must 
contain  an  assertion  which  is  clearly  opposed 
to  a  proved  fact  or  to  a  clear  pronouncement 
of  human  reason  or  the  human  conscience. 
These  are  not  the  speculations  of  advanced 
theologians,  but  the  current  teaching  in  the 
Roman  schools  and  manuals '  of  dogmatic 

theology. 

Thus  has  history  vindicated  the  heretic. 
The  multiplication  of  churches  has  made  the 
Bernardist  notion  of  faith  wholly  untenable 
and  unserviceable  to  Rome.  Reason  pre- 
cedes faith  ;  reason  must  lead  men  to  faith, 
and  make  faith  acceptable  to  men.    That  is 

>  One  of  the  most  widely  used  of  these  manuals  at  present  is  that  of 
the  learned  Jesuit,  Father  Hurter.  On  p.  472  of  the  first  volume,  one 
finds  the  Bernardist  notions  of  faith  sternly  rejected,  and  variously 
attributed  to  "  Protestants,"  "  Pietists,"  and  "  Kantists." 


382 


Peter  Abdlard 


the  gospel  that  now  falls  on  the  dead  ear  of 
the  great  master. 

And  when  we  pass  from  this  fundamental 
principle  or  attitude  to  a  consideration  of 
special  points  of  dogma  we  again  meet  with 
many  a  triumph.  We  have  already  seen 
how  Ab61ard's  ''novelties"  may  be  traced 
to  a  twofold  criticism — ethical  and  intellect- 
ual— of  the  form  in  which  Christian  dogmas 
were  accepted  in  his  day.  Without  ex- 
plicitly formulating  it,  Ab^lard  proceeded  on 
the  principle  which  is  now  complacently 
laid  down  by  the  Catholic  theologian,  and 
was  accepted  by  the  Christian  world  at 
large  a  century  or  half  a  century  ago, — the 
principle  that  what  is  offered  to  us  as  re- 
vealed truth  must  be  tested  by  the  declara- 
tions of  the  mind  and  of  the  conscience. 
The  intellectual  criticism  led  him  to  alter  the 
terms  of  the  dogmas  of  the  Trinity,  the  In- 
carnation, the  Eucharist,  and  others ;  the 
ethical  criticism  led  him  to  modify  the  cur- 
rent theories  of  original  sin,  the  atonement, 
penance,  and  so  forth. 

Now,  even  if  we  confine  our  attention  to 


The  Influence  of  Aboard        383 

Roman  theology,  we  find  a  large  adoption 
of  Ab^lard's  singularly  prophetic  conclusions. 
As  to  the  Trinity,  it  is  now  a  universal  and 
accepted  practice  to  illustrate  it  by  analogies 
derived  from  purely  natural   phenomena, 
which  are  always  heretical  if  taken  literally. 
One  of  the  proudest  achievements  of  St. 
Thomas  and  the  schoolmen  was  the  con- 
struction of  an  elaborate  analogical  con- 
ception of  the  Trinity.     On   the  equally 
important  question  of  Scripture,  Abelard's 
innovation  proved  prophetic.     In  that  age 
of  the  doctrine  of  verbal  inspiration  he  drew 
attention  to  the  human  element  in  the  Bible. 
Even  the  Catholic  Bible  is  no  longer  a  mono- 
chrome.   Ab^lard's  speculation  about  the 
''  accidents ''  in  the  Eucharist— that  they  are 
based  on  the  substance  of  the  air— is  now 
widely  and  freely  accepted  by  theologians. 
His  moral  principles  relating  to  sins  done  in 
ignorance  and  to  ''suggestion,  delectation, 
and  consent "  — both  of  which  were  con- 
demned, at  Bernard's  demand— are  recog- 
nised to  be  absolutely  sound  by  the  modern 
casuist.   His  notion  of  heaven  is  the  current 


tf 


384 


Peter  Abelard 


esoteric  doctrine  in  Rome  to-day;  his  theory 
of  hell  is  widely  held,  in  spite  of  a  recent 
official  censure  ;  his  pleading  for  Plato  and 
his  fellow-heathens  would  be  seconded  by 
the  average  Catholic  theologian  of  to-day. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  how 
entirely  the  non-Roman  theology  of  the 
nineteenth  century  has  accepted  Abelard's 
spirit  and  conclusions.  The  broadest  feature 
of  the  history  of  theology  during  the  century 
has  been  the  resumption  and  the  develop- 
ment of  the  modifying  process  which  was 
started  by  Abelard  eight  centuries  ago.  The 
world  at  large  has  taken  up  his  speculations 
on  the  Incarnation,  the  atonement,  original 
sin,  responsibility,  inspiration,  confession, 
hell  and  heaven,  and  many  other  points, 
and  given  them  that  development  from 
which  the  dutiful  son  of  the  Church  incon- 
sistently shrank.*     A  curious  and  striking 

'  A  typical  illustration  of  the  perplexity  and  inconsistency  which  re- 
sulted from  the  conflict  of  Abelard's  critical  moral  sense  with  apparently 
fixed  dogmas  is  seen  in  his  treatment  of  original  sin  in  the  Comment- 
ary  on  the  Epistle  to  the  /Romans.  He  finds  two  meanings  for  the 
word  sin, — guilt  and  punishment  ;  and  he  strains  his  conscience  to  the 
point  of  admitting  that  we  may  inherit  Adam's  sin  in  the  latter  sense. 
Then  comes  the  question  of  unbaptised  children  —  whom  Bernard 


The  Influence  of  Abelard        385 


proof  of  this  may  be  taken  from  Tholuck's  .^ 
dissertation  on  Abelard  and  Aquinas  as  In- 
terpreters of  Scripture.  The  distinguished 
German  theologian,  who  is  the  author  of  a 
well-known  commentary  on  the  Epistle  to 
the  Romans,  says  that  when  he  read  Abe- 
lard's commentary  on  that  Epistle,  in  pre- 
paring his  own  work,  he  seriously  hesitated 
whether  it  would  not  suffice  to  republish 
the  forgotten  work  of  Abelard  instead  of 
writing  a  new  one.  When  one  recollects 
what  an  epitome  of  theology  such  a  com- 
mentary must  be,  one  can  appreciate  not 
only  the  great  homage  it  involves  to  the 
genius  of  the  man  whom  Bernard  scornfully 
calls  a  ''dabbler  in  theology,"  but  the  ex- 
tent to  which  Abelard  anticipated  the 
mature  judgment  of  theological  science. 

It  seems,  however,  a  superfluous  task  to 
point  out  the  acceptance  of  Abelard's  spirit, 
method,  and  results  by  theology  in  general. 

calmly  consigned  to  Hades—  and  he  has  to  produce  the  extraordinary 
theory  that  the  Divine  Will  is  the  standard  of  morality,  and  so  cannot 
act  unjustly.  But  his  conscience  asserts  itself,  and  he  goes  on  to  say 
that  their  punishment  will  only  be  a  negative  one— the  denial  of  the 
sight  of  God— and  will  only  be  inflicted  on  those  children  who,  in  the 
divine  prescience,  would  have  been  wicked  had  they  lived. 

8^ 


386 


Peter  Abelard 


The  more  interesting  and  important  ques- 
tion is  the  acceptance  of  his  ideas  by  the 
Church  of  Rome.  That  we  have  abund- 
antly established,  and  we  may  now  pro- 
ceed to  inquire  whether,  and  to  what 
extent,  Abelard  had  a  direct  influence  in  the 
abandonment  of  the  mystic  attitude  and 
the  adoption  of  one  which  may  be  fairly 
entitled  ''rationalistic." 

Here  we  have  a  much  more  difficult  pro- 
blem to  deal  with.  It  may  at  once  be  frankly 
avowed  that  there  is  little  evidence  of  a 
direct  transition  of  Ab^lard's  ideas  into  the 
accepted  scheme  of  theology.  Some  of  the 
most  careful  and  patient  biographers  of 
Abelard,  as  a  theologian,  say  that  we  can- 
not claim  for  him  any  direct  influence  on 
the  course  of  theological  development. 
Deutsch  points  out  that  his  works  must 
have  become  rare,  and  the  few  copies  se- 
cretly preserved,  after  their  condemnation 
by  the  Pope  ;  certainly  few  manuscripts  of 
them  have  survived.  He  had  formed  no 
theological  school  (as  distinct  from  philo- 
sophical), or  the  beginning  of  one  must 


The  Influence  of  Abelard         387 

have  been  crushed  at  Sens.     His  Roman 
pupils  and  admirers  were  probably  not  men 
who  would   cultivate   loyalty  under  un- 
favourable circumstances.    The  schoolmen 
of  the  following  century  only  knew  Abelard 
from  passages  in  Hugh  of  St.  Victor  and 
others  of  his  enemies.    The  first  to  repro- 
duce what  Deutsch  takes  to  be  the  charac- 
teristic spirit  or  method  of  Abelard  is  Roger 
Bacon  ;  it  is  extremely  doubtful  if  he  had 
any  acquaintance  whatever  with  Abelard. 
The  world  was  prepared  to  receive  the  ideas 
of  Abelard  with  some  respect  in  the  thir- 
teenth century,  but  it  had  then  a  task  which 
was  too  absorbing  to  allow  a  search  for  the 
manuscripts  of  ''a  certain  Abelard,''  as  one 
later  theologian  put  it.    The  Arabians  and 
Jews  had  reintroduced  Aristotle  into  Eu- 
rope.    He  had  come  to   stay  ;  and   the 
schoolmen   were    engrossed    in  the  work 
of  fitting  him  with  garments  of  Christian 

theology. 

On  the  other  hand  there  are  historians, 
such  as  Reuter,  who  grant  Abelard  a  large 
measure  of  direct  influence  on  the  develop- 


388 


Peter  Ab^lard 


ment  of  theology.  It  is  pointed  out  that 
a  very  large  proportion  of  the  masters 
of  the  next  generation  had  studied  under 
Abelard.  Reuter  instances  Bernard  Syl- 
vester of  Chartres,  and  William  of  Conches, 
as  well  as  Gilbert  de  la  Porree.  Clearer 
instances  of  direct  influence  are  found  in 
the  case  of  Master  Roland  of  Bologna  (after- 
wards to  ascend  the  papal  throne  under 
the  name  of  Alexander  III.)  and  Mas- 
ter Omnebene  of  the  same  city.  It  is,  in 
any  case,  quite  clear  that  Abelard  was  pre- 
eminently a  teacher  of  teachers.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  would  be  incorrect  to  lay  too 
much  stress  on  the  condemnation  by  Pope 
Innocent.  All  the  world  knew  that  Bernard 
had  prudently  kept  the  unexecuted  Bull  in 
his  pocket,  and  that  Abelard  was  teaching 
theology  at  Cluny,  with  the  Pope's  approval, 
a  few  months  after  the  condemnation. 

It  is  best  to  distinguish  once  more  be- 
tween the  spirit  or  method  of  Abelard  and 
his  particular  critical  conclusions.  His  con- 
clusions, his  suggestions  for  the  recon- 
struction of  certain  dogmas,  were  lost  to 


The  Influence  of  Abelard        389 

theological  science.  The  cruder  notions 
of  the  earlier  age  and  of  Bernard  continued 
to  be  regarded  as  the  truth  for  many  cent- 
uries. Even  the  masters,  such  as  Roland 
of  Bologna,  who  did  found  their  theology 
more  conspicuously  on  that  of  Abelard, 
prudently  deviated  from  his  opinions  where 
they  were  *' offensive  to  pious  ears."  His 
treatment  of  the  Trinity  is,  perhaps,  an 
exception.  Not  that  Abelard's  favourite 
analogies— that  of  the  seal  and  its  impres- 
sion, and  so  forth— were  retained,  but  he 
had  set  an  example  in  the  rationalistic  or 
naturalistic  illustration  of  the  mystery  which 
persisted  in  the  schools.  All  the  great  school- 
men of  the  following  century  accepted  the 
Ab^lardist  notion  of  a  rationalistic  illustra- 
tion and  defence  of  the  Trinity.  They  con- 
structed an  elaborately  meaningless  analogy 
of  it  and  invented  a  ''  virtual "  distinction— a 
mental  distinction  which  might  be  taken  to 
be  objective  for  apologetic  purposes— be- 
tween the  essence  and  the  personalities. 
But  Abelard's  penetrating  and  reconstruc- 
tive criticisms  of  the   current  dogmas  of 


39° 


Peter  Ab^lard 


original  sin,  the  Incarnation,  responsibility, 
reward  and  punishment,  inspiration,  omni- 
potence, etc. ,  degenerated  into,  at  the  most, 
obscure  heresies,— sank  back  into  the  well 
of  truth  until  long  after  a  rebellious  monk 
had  broken  the  bonds  which  held  the 
intellect  of  Europe. 

It  was  far  otherwise  with  the  spirit  of 
Ab^lard,  the  fundamental  principle  or  maxim 
on  which  all  else  depended.  The  thirteenth 
century  cordially  accepted  that  principle, 
and  applied  itself  to  the  rationalisation  of 
theology.  It  wholly  abandoned  the  mysti- 
cism of  Bernard  and  the  school  of  St,  Victor. 
The  Cistercian  had  summed  up  Ab^lard's 
misdeeds  thus  in  his  letter  to  the  Pope : 
"He  peers  into  the  heavens  and  searches 
the  hidden  things  of  God,  then,  returning 
to  us,  he  holds  discourse  on  ineffable  things 
of  which  a  man  may  not  speak."  In  the 
very  sense  in  which  this  was  said  of  Ab€- 
lard,  it  may  be  urged  as  a  chief  characteris- 
tic of  the  saintly  schoolmen  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  Even  St.  Bonaventure  was  no 
mystic  in  the  anti-rational  sense  of  Bernard ; 


The  Influence  of  Abelard         391 

simply,  he  applied  to  theology  the  reason 
of  Plato  instead  of  the  reason  of  Aristotle. 
Archbishop  Roger  Vaughan,  in  his  Life  of 
St.  Thomas,  says  that  the  schoolmen  owed 
the  "probatur  ratione  "  in  their  loci  theo- 
logid  to  Abelard.    That  is  already  a  most 
striking  vindication  of  Ab^lard's  character- 
istic teaching  as  to  the  function  of  reason, 
for  we  know  how  important  the  "proofs 
from  reason  "  were  in  the  scheme  of  Aquinas 
and  Scotus.    But  they  really  owe  far  more 
than  this  to  Abelard.    If  they  have  deserted 
the  dreamy,  rambling,  fruitless,  and  fantastic 
speculation  of  the  mystic  school  for  a  me- 
thodical and  syllogistic  inquiry  concerning 
each  point  of  faith,  it  is  largely  due  to  the 
example  of  Abelard.    The  schoolmen  no- 
toriously followed  Peter  the  Lombard.   From 
the  Sentences  of  Peter  the  Lombard  to  the 
Sic  et  Non  of  Peter  Abelard— through  such 
works   as  the   Sentences  of  Roland   and 
Omnebene  of  Bologna  and  the  so-called 
Sentences  of  Peter  Abelard— \s  a  short  and 
easy  journey.    No  doubt  we  must  not  lose 
sight  of  that  other  event  which  so  powerfully 


392 


Peter  Abelard 


influenced  the  theology  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  the  invasion  of  the  Arab  and  Jew 
philosophers.  Theirs  is  the  only  influence 
of  which  the  schoolmen  show  any  con- 
sciousness  in  their  elaborate  fortification  of 
dogma  to  meet  the  criticism  of  reason  and 
conscience,  except  for  the  avowed  influence 
of  the  Lombard ;  and  along  that  line  we 
may  trace  the  direct  influence  of  Abelard. 

In  the  circumstances  it  makes  little  dif- 
ference to  the  prestige  of  Abelard  whether 
we  succeed  in  proving  a  direct  influence  or 
no.    There  are  few  who  will  think  less  of 
hini  because  he  was  beaten  by  St.  Bernard 
in  diplomatic  manipulation  of  the  political 
force  of  the  Church.    The  times  were  not 
ripe  for  the  acceptance  of  his  particular 
criticisms,  and  the  mystic  school  was  the 
natural   expression   of  this   conservatism 
We  may  even  doubt  if  Deutsch  is  correct 
in  saying  that  the  thirteenth  century  was 
prepared  to  receive  them,  but  that  its  atten- 
tion  was   diverted   to  Spain.    Renan  has 
said  that  they  who  study  the  thirteenth 
century  closely  are  astonished  that  Protest- 


The  Influence  of  Abelard        393 

antism  did  not  arise  three  hundred  years 
earlier.  That  is  the  point  of  view  of  a 
logician.  The  Reformation  was  not  in 
reality,  though  it  seems  such  in  theory  to 
the  student  of  the  history  of  ideas,  an  intel- 
lectual development.  No  doubt  it  could 
not  have  succeeded  without  this  develop- 
ment to  appeal  to,  but  it  was  a  moral  and 
political  revolt.  How  little  the  world  was 
prepared  for  such  a  revolt  at  the  end  of  the 
thirteenth  century  may  be  gathered  from  a 
study  of  the  life  of  that  other  rebellious 
monk,  William  Occam.  This  success  the 
Anselms  and  Bernards  achieved;  they 
spread,  with  a  moral  renovation,  a  spirit 
of  docility  and  loyalty  to  the  Church.  The 
subtlety  and  intellectual  activity  they  could 
not  arrest  came  to  be  used  up  in  an  effort 
to  restate  the  older  dogmas  in  terms  which 
should  be  at  once  conservative  and  accept- 
able to  the  new  rational  demand. 

It  is  equally  difficult  and  more  interest- 
ing to  determine  how  far  Abelard  himself 
was  created  by  predecessors.  Nowadays 
no   thought   is   revolutionary;  but   some 


394 


Peter  Ab^lard 


notions  are  more  rapid  in  their  evolution 
than  others.    To   what   extent   Abdard's 
ideas  were  thus  borrowed  from  previous 
thinkers  it  is  not  easy  to  determine  with 
precision.    He  was  far  from  being  the  first 
rationalist   of  the   Middle   Ages.     Scotus 
Erigena  and  B^renger  (of  anti-sacramental 
fame)  were  well  remembered  in  his  day. 
He  himself  studied   under  a  rationalistic 
master— Jean    Roscelin,    Canon   of  Com- 
pi^gne— in  his   early  years;    We  do  not 
know  with  certainty  at  what  age  he  studied 
under  Roscelin,  and  cannot,  therefore,  de- 
termine how  great  an  influence  the  older 
master  exercised  over  him.    But  there  can 
be  little  doubt  that  Ab^lard  must  be  credited 
with  a  very  large  force  of  original  genius. 
At  the  most,  the  attitude  of  his  mind  to- 
wards dogma  was  determined  by  outward 
influences,  concurring  with  his  own  tem- 
perament and  character  of  mind.    It  is  more 
than  probable  that  this  attitude  would  have 
been  adopted  by  him  even  had  there  been 
no  predisposing  influence  whatever.    His 
rationalism  flows  spontaneously  and  irre- 


The  Influence  of  Ab^lard        395 

sistibly  from  his  type  of  mind  and  character. 
In  the  development  of  the  rationalist  princi- 
ple we  see  the  exclusive  action  of  his  ow^n 
intelligence.  To  most  of  us  in  this  genera- 
tion such  dogmatic  reconstruction  as  Abe- 
lard  urged  seems  obvious  enough ;  yet  one 
needs  little  imagination  to  appreciate  the 
mental  power  or,  rather,  penetration,  which 
was  necessary  to  realise  its  necessity  in  the 
twelfth  century. 

One  is  tempted  at  times  to  speculate 
on  the  probable  development  of  Ab^lard's 
thoughts  if  that  great  shadow  had  not  fallen 
on  his  life  at  so  early  a  period.  There  are 
two  Ab^lards.  The  older  theologian,  who 
is  ever  watchful  to  arrest  his  thoughts  when 
they  approach  clear,  fundamental  dogmas, 
is  not  the  natural  development  of  the  free- 
thinking  author  of  the  Sic  et  Non.  With 
the  conversion  to  the  ascetic  ideal  had  come 
a  greater  awe  in  approaching  truths  which 
were  implicitly  accepted  as  divine.  Yet  we 
may  well  doubt  if  Ab^lard  would  ever  have 
advanced  much  beyond  his  actual  limits. 
Starting  from  the  world  of  ideas  in  which 


196 


Peter  Ab^lard 


he  lived,  he  would  have  needed  an  excep- 
tional strength  to  proceed  to  any  very  de- 
fiant and  revolutionary  conclusions.     He 
was  not  of  the  stuff  of  martyrs,  of  Scotus 
Erigena  or  Arnold  of  Brescia.     He  had  no 
particle  of  the  political  ability  of  Luther. 
But  such  as  he  is,  gifted  with  a  penetrating 
mind,  and  led  by  a  humanist  ideal  that 
touched  few  of  his  contemporaries,  patheti- 
cally irresolute,  and  failing  because  the  fates 
had  made  him  the  hero  of  a  great  drama 
and  ironically  denied  him  the  hero's  strength, 
he  deserves  at  least  to  be  drawn  forth  from 
the  too  deep  shadow  of  a  crude  and  un- 
sympathetic tradition. 


/ 


INDEX 


Abelard,  origin  of  name,  i  ? 

Aboilar,  15 

Adam,  Abbot  of  St.  Denis,  144, 

147,  '54,  176,   192,  194,  198, 

199 
Adam  of  the  Little  Bridge,  44 
Alberic  of  Rheims,  71,  157,  172- 

»73,    »75-»79,   182,   190,  216, 

224 
Alvise,  Bishop  of  Arras,  326 
Anima    mundi    and    the   Holy 

Ghost,  319 
Anselm  Beessus,  Canon  of  Laon 

64,65 

of  Laon,  63-67,  157,  224 

St.,  15,  3',  63 

Antagonism  of  Abelard  and  St. 

Bernard,  297,298,  3 » 7,  377 
Anti-pope,  the  244,  360 
Apology  of  Abelard,  361 
Appeal  to  Rome,  327-329 
Arabic,  study  of,  17 
Argenteuil,  nunnery  of,  114,  120, 

132,  237 
Aristotle,  28,  74,  84,  87 
Arnold  of  Brescia,  228,  291,  309, 

316,  324,  334,  340,   352,  355, 

362 
Asceticism,  Heloise  on,  282 
Astrolabe,  son  of  Abelard,  131, 

250,370,375,,    ^,    ,.^ 
Attempts  on  Abelard's  life,  247, 

248 
Aventinus,  10 

Bacon,  Roger,  and  Abelard,  387 
Bajolard,  13 


Baldwin,  monk,  17 

Bayle  on  Heloise,  267,  277 

Bee,  15 

Bede,  Venerable,   on  St.  Denis, 

«93.  «97 
Benedictines,  the,  15 

Berenger,  father  of  Abelard,  6,  59 

of  Poitiers,  62,  394 

pupil  of  Abelard,  152,   291, 

324,  330-332,  355 

Bernard  of  Chartres,  1 6 

of  Clairvaux,  St.,  18,  34,  42, 

56,  59,  60,  71,84,  144,  172, 
202,  216,  218,  221,  223,  224, 
245,  294,  296-318,  322,  325- 

355,  359-364 

of  Cluny  (quoted),  1 52 

Bible,  Abelard's  opinion  concern- 
ing, 383 

Boetius,  28,  87 

Breviary,  Roman,  the,  193 

Brittany,  people  of,  235 

Buchanan's  (Robert),  New  Abe- 
lard,  262 

Burchard,  Bishop  of  Meaux,  202. 

Burglary,  a  mediaeval,  65 

Burning  ot  Abelard's  works,  181, 

352 
Bussy-Rabutin  on  Heloise,  262 

Calixtus,  Pope,  187 
Calumniation    of    Abelard,    97, 

134,  334-349   ^.        ^  „  . 

Cambridge,  founding  of  Univer- 
sity of,  228 

Canonesses,  49 

Canons,  regular,  40 


397 


398 


Index 


Index 


399 


Canons,  secular,  49 
Cathedral  of  Paris,  23,  24 
Celibacy,  law  of,  102,  124 
Cells,  147,  155 

Cemetery  of  Pere  Lachaise.  no: 
^375 

Century  of  iron,  the,  1 
Challenge  of  Bernard,  309 
Charlemagne,  15 
Chartres,  16,  17 
Chateaubriand  on  Heloise,  276 
Church,  service  of  Abelard  to 

253 
Cistercians,  the,  40,   239,  300, 

367 

Clairvaux,  abbey  of,  216,  224 
Cluny  abbey  of  is,  357,  367 
Colardeau  on  Heloise,  262 
Cologne,  Council  of,  on  reason. 
380 

Commentary  on  Epistle,  to  the 

Romans,  Abelard's,  293,  384 
Compayre  (quoted),  34 
Conceptualism,  33 

Condemnation  of*^  Abelard.  first 
180 

second,  328 

at  Rome,  352 

Confession,  Abelard's  opinion 
concerning,  320,  362 

^—  Champeaux's  opinion  con- 
cerning;, 60 

of  Abelard,  93 

Augustine,   and   Rousseau 

compared,  254 

Conon,  Bishop  of  Praeneste.  171. 
»74-i83,  190  ' 

Duke  of  Brittany,  230,  248 

Conversion  of  Abelard,  138 

Corbeil,  35 

Corruption  of  monasteries,   106 

«43,  233,  247 

of  nunnenes,  238,  239 

of  the  clergy,  39,  102,  103, 

105  ' 

Cotter  Morison  on  Abelard,  97, 

116,  126,  134,  222,305 
Cousin  on  Heloise,  287 

(quoted),  28,  87 

Crevier  (quoted),  76,  108 


Crusades,  the  2 

Dagobert,  brother  of  Abelard 

^  247,  250,  370 

Dark  Ages,  the,  7 

Death  of  Abelard,  371 

Denis,    St.,   controversy   about. 

193,  198 
Denyse,  sister  of  Abelard,  131 
Deutsch  (quoted),    10,  42,  126, 

150,   164,  \6t,  197,  255,  291, 

^300,315,387 

Development  of  Abelard's  ideas. 

395 
Dialectics  of  Abelard,  370 
—-study  of,  14,16,  18,27,35 
Dialogue,  the,  of  Abelard,  161 
Dubois  on  the  corruption  of  the 

clergy,  103 
Duboulai  (quoted),  15a 

End  of  the  world,  i 
Episcopal  schools,  16 
Eremetical  life  of  Abelard,  207 
Ethical  opinions  of  Abelard,  310 
Ethics,  the,  of  Abelard,  293 
Etienne  de  Garlande,   106,  152 
203-205  ' 

Eucharist,    opinion    of   Abelard 

concerning,  319,  383 
Eudes  of  Orleans,  16 
Evil,  Abelard's  opinion  concern- 
ing, 320,  362 
Expulsion  of  canons,  50 

of  monks,  248 

of  nuns,  239 

Ezechiel,  Abelard's  lectures  on, 
70 

Faith,    Abelard's    opinions    on, 
^  '65,  298,  378 
Feast  of  Fools,  108 
Flight  from  St.  Denis,  196 

from  St.  Gildas,  249 

Fontevraud,  abbey  of,  57 
Fulbert,    Canon,    1 12-1 14,    117^ 

123,  126,  131,  137,  ,48 
Pulques,  Prior,   79,  Sy^  98,  134, 

'37,  149 

Galo,  Bishop  of  Paris,  51,  57,  239 


Galton,  Mr.  (quoted),  32 
Games  of  students,  80 
Gaufridus    Vindoniencensis,    58, 

60 
Genera  and  species,  question  of, 

28 
Geoffrey,  Bishop  of  Chartres,  1 77 

-181,  190,  205,  226,  238,  302, 

325,  337 
of  the  Stag's  Neck,  185-187, 

190,  326 
Gervaise,     Dom.     (quoted),   39, 

185 
Gilbert  de  la  Porree,  291,  324, 

330 

Gilbert,  Bishop  of  Paris,  148,  167 

Goswin,  St.,  52,  187,  191 

Grammar,  study  of,  16,  17 

Greard's  translation  of^  the  Let- 
ters, 258,  264 

Great  Bridge,  the,  20 

Greek,  Abelard's  knowledge  of, 
86 

Heloise's  knowledge  of,  1 16, 

285 

thought,  influence  on  medi- 
aeval, 73. 

Guido  of  Castello,  346 

Guizot,  Mme.  (quoted),  9,  258 

Hallam  (quoted),  258 

Hatton,  Bishop  of  Troyes,  196, 

209,  326 
Hausrath  (quoted),  62,  82,  112, 

150,  186,  197,  291,  300,  303 
Haymerick,   Roman   Chancellor, 

345.  346 
Hebrew,  Abelard's  knowledge  of, 
88 

Heloise's  knowledge  of,  116, 


285 


study  of,  1 7 


Hefele,  Father  (quoted),  221,  312 
Helias,  Bishop  of  Orieans,  326 
Heloise,  81,  86,  88,  89,  96,  99, 
11Q-123,     I39-I4>,    240-243, 
256-288,  306,  364,  372-375 

home  of,  119 

Henry  the  Boar,  Archbishop  of 
Sens,  310,  323,  326,  335. 


Hilary,  pupil  of  Abelard,  213 
Hoel,  Duke  of  Brittany,  6 
Honorius,  Pope,  237 
Hugo,  Bishop  of  Auxerre,  326 
Hyacinth,  pupil  of  Abe'iard,  291, 

324,  330,  342,  346 
Hymns  of  Abelard,  285 

Incarnation,    Abelard's   opinion 

concerning,  320 
Influence  of  Abelard,  576 
Innocent  11.,  Pope,  50,  88,  244, 

334-345,  352,  367 
Intolerance  of  Christian  nations, 

228 
Introductio  ad  Theologiam,  the, 

of  Abelard,  293 
Investitures,  question  of,  316 
Ivo,  Bishop  of  Chartres,  16 
Cardinal,  347 

Jacques  de  Vitry,  Cardinal,  49, 
75,  «03,  104,  107,  239 

Jews,  the,  ^,  24,  48,  74,  78,  88, 
392 

John  of  Salisbury,  16,  29,  52,  63, 
83,  290,  364 

Johnson  (quoted),  259 

Joscelin  the  Red,  48,  52,  53,  55, 

n^,  305, 326 

Know  Thyself,  Abelard's  293 

Lalanne  on  the  Letters,  263 

Lanfranc,  15 

Laon,  64 

Latin  (garter,  the,  48,  51 

Latinity  of  Abelard,  86,  253 

of  Heloise,  1 16,  267 

Learning  of  Abe'iard,  85 

of  Heloise,  115,  120 

of  women  in  twelfth  cent- 
ury, 115 
Letter  of  Abelard  to  Abbot  Adam, 


197 


to  St.  Bernard,  306 
to  Roscelin,  168 


—  of  St.    Bernard  to   French 
bishops,  314 
to    St.    Thierry,  222, 


304 


400 


Index 


Index 


401 


i|. 


Letter  of  Peter  the  Venerable  to 

Heloise,  368,  373 

of  Roscelin  to  Abelard,  169, 

of  St.  Thierry  to   Bernard, 

294,  301-303 
Letters  of  Abelard  and  Heloise, 

257-285,  365 
authenticity     of, 

263 
of  St.  Bernard  to  the  Pope, 

334-344 

to  the  Roman  cardi- 
nals, 345-350 

Letter-writing  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, 266 

Ltx  talioniSj  107,  148 

Liaison  of  Abelard  and  Heloise, 
^,  117-138 

License  to  teach,  when  necessary, 

34,45 

Licentiousness  of  Abelard,  al- 
leged, 97,  134,  150 

Lisiard  de  Crespy,  1 76 

Little  Bridge,  the,  21 

Locmenach,  11,  231 

Lotulphe  of  Novare,  71,  157, 
172,  176,  190,  216 

Louis,  King,  24,  50,  195,  201, 
206,  311,  316,  323 

Lucan  (quoted),  141 

Lucia,  Abelard's  mother,  6,  56, 
59 

Mabillon,  on  Abelard's  ortho- 
doxy, 364 

Maisoncelle,  156 

Manasses,  Bishop  of  Meaux,  326 

Mangold  of  Alsace,  24 

Map,  Walter,  on  St.  Bernard, 
364 

Mananne  Alcoforado  and  Heloise, 
260,  276 

Marriage  of  Abelard  and  Heloise, 
127,  131 

Married  priests,  102,  232 

Mathematics,  not  studied  by 
Abelard,  13,  19 

Melun,  35,  45 

Metellus,  Hugo,  13 

Miracles  exposed  by  Abelard,  220 


Monasteries,  2,  107,  143,  231, 
247 

Monastic  festivals,  145 

life,  history  of,  by  Abelard, 

283 

— ^  rule,  by  Abelard  and  Helo- 
ise, 282 

spirit,  the,  56 

Moors,  the,  227 

Moral  classification,  223 

codes,  divergence  of,  1 00 

Morals  of  the  twelfth  century, 
102 

Moriacum,  11 

Morigni,  abbey  of,  244 

Muratori,  (quoted),  24 

Music,  Ab^ard's  knowledge  of, 
18 

Mutilation  of  Abelard,  137 

Nations  at  Paris,  76-80,  149 
Neander  (quoted),  303 
Nevers,  Count  de,  323,  325 
Newman,  Cardinal,  on  Abelard. 

100,  281 
Nicholas  de  Montier-Ramey,  St. 

Bernard's  Secretary,  350,  363 
Nobles  of  France  and  the  King, 

204 
Noel  Alexandre  on  Abelard,  364 
Nogent-sur-Seine,  207 
Nominalism,  31 
Norbert,  St.,  49,  216,  219 
Notre  Dame,  cathedral  of,  23,  24 
cloistral  school  of,  24, 

4«,43,  47,  61,  73,  75 
Number  of  Abelard's  pupils,  76, 

156,  211 
Nunneries,  57,  58,  238 

Occam,  William,  393 
Omnebene  of  Bologna,  388 
Ordeal,  the,  66,  109 
Orelli  on  the  Letters^  263 
Original  sin,  Abelard's  view  of, 

320,  362 
Otto  von   Freising  (quoted),  9, 

83,  156,  177,328,  364 

Palace  school,  the,  15 


Pallet,  5 

Papal  court  in  France,  244 

schism,  244,  339 

Paraclete,    the,    209,   215,  242, 

245,  306,^75 
Parentage  of  Abelard,  6 

of  Heloise,  1 1 2 

Paris,  20,  73,  78 
Paschal,  Pope,  105,  152 
Peter  the  Eater,  44 

the  Lombard,  391 

the    Venerable,    in,    114, 

^  557,  367,  372,  373 
Philip,  King,  death  of,  43 

palace  of,  23 

Philippe  Auguste,  77,  88 

Pius  IX.,  on  reason,  380 

Plato,  74,  84,  87,  91 

Poetry  of  Abelard,  117,  121, 
214 

Poison,  attempts  on  life  of  Abe- 
lard by,  247 

Poole,  Mr.  (quoted),  12,  14,  117, 
197,  208,  222,  329 

Pope's  Heloise,  258,  260,  276 

Porphyry,  28 

Portuguese    Letters,    the,    258, 

260,  261 
Pre'-aux-clercs,  the,  51,  80 
Predecessors  of  Abelard,  393 
Predestination,  Abelard's  opinion 

on,  320 
Premontre,  219 
Premonstratensians,     the,     219, 

220 
Priest,  Abelard  as  a,  123 
Priories,  147,  155 
Priscian,  mediaeval  study  of,  18, 

47 
Problems  of  Heloise,  the,  286 
Profession,   religious,  of  Heloise, 

140 
Pupils  of  Abelard,  89,  290 

QuADRiviuM,  the,  17 

Quarrel  over  Abelard's  body,  373 

Ralph  of  Laon,  63 

the  Green,   158,    159,  171, 

176 


Rashdell  (quoted),  15,  77,  108 
Rationalism  of  Abelard,  161,  165, 
296,  298,  371,  377,  382,390, 

394 
Raynard,  Abbot  of  Qteaux,  360, 
Realism,  31,  32 
Reason  and  faith,  160,  165,  298, 

^  371,  377 

Reconciliation  of  Abelard  and  St. 

Bernard,  360 
Reformation,  the,  389,  392 
Remusat  (quoted),  37,  89,  in 
Reuter  on  Abelard,  388 
Rhetoric,  study  of,  17,  41 
Rhuys,  231,  235 
Robert  of  Arbrissel,  42,  56-59 

Melun,  43 

Roland  of  Bologna,  388,  391 
Roman  de  la  rose,  the,  265 
Rome,  Abelard's  respect  for,  316 
avarice  and  corruption  of, 

150 
Rome's  reason,  378-381 
Roscelin,  Jean,  8,  10,  31,  37,  48, 

57,  134,  168,394 
Rousseau  and  Abelard,  254 
Rousseau's  Nouvelle  Heloise,  262, 

264,  276 
Rousselot,  26,  30 

Sabellianism,  charge  of,  178 
Samson,  Archbishop  of  Rheims, 

323,  326,  33? 
Saracens,  the,  m  Spain,  74,  227, 

392 
Scholastic  philosophy,  the,  28 
Scholasticus ,  25 
School  life,  79 
Schoolmen  and  Abelard,  the,  387, 

389-391 
Schools  of  France,  the,  1 5 

Paris,  the,  13,  75,  78 

Scotus  Erigepa.  ^4,  ^pfe^  ^ 

J.  Duns,  391 

Sens,  309,  311,  32s 

Council  of,    17;,   Ko,   •«09, 

311,  322- 32S 
Sententtce  Abcelardi,   the,    124, 

293,  ^63,  391 
Sermons  ot  Abelai  d,  ?^o 


% 


402 


Index 


Sexual  ideas  in  twelfth  century, 

lOI 

Sic  et  Non,  the,  164,  391 
Simony,  prevalence  of,  106 
Sins    committed    in     ignorance, 
Abelard's  opinion  on,  321,  362, 

383 
Soissons,  173 

Council  of,  175,  184,  189 

Song  of  Songs  in  Middle  Ages, 

294,  297 
St.   Denis,  abbey  of,  16,  17,  24, 

142-148,  153,  i9«,  >92 
Genevieve,    abbey  of,  20, 

23,  48,  50 
Germain  of  Auxerre,  abbey 

of,  23 
Germain  of  the  Meadow, 

abbey  of,  23 
Gildas,  abbey  of,   11,  231- 

236 
Martin  in  the  Fields,  abbey 

of,  24 

Medard,  184,  186 

Hilary,  church  of,  292 

Genevieve,   hill  of,  20,  47, 

290 

Landry,  port  of,  2 1 

Ayoul,  priory  of,  196 

Marcellus,    priory  of,  371, 

372 
St.  Victor,  priory  of,  24,  38 
school  of,  41,  55,  61, 

76,390^  ^    . 

Stephen  of  Praeneste,  Card. ,  349 
Storjf  of  my  calamities,  the,  93, 

221,  252 
Student's  life,  79,  103,  108,  212 
Suger,  Abbot,  24,  50,   151,200, 

202,  206,  230,  236 

T%ycHi«G  of  Abe'.ard,  82 
"ThfecJbc^ld  of  Champagne,  Count, 
"156,  196,  198,  226,  326 
Theologia  Christiana,  the,  293 


Theological  opinions  of  Abelard, 

318-321,  376,  384 
Theology,   teaching  of,   63,  70, 

160 
Tholuck  on  Abelard  as  theologian, 

385 
Thomas  of  Aquin,  St.,  85,  383, 

39 « 
Tirricus,  Master,  12, 14, 16,37,  ^82 

Tournai,  16 

Traditionalism,  379 

Travelling  in  the  twelfth  century, 

7 
Treatise  on  Baptism,  the,  of  St. 

Bernard,  305 
Trinity,  Abelard's  works  on  the, 

166,  319,  389 
statue  of,  at  the  Paraclete, 

215 
Tri-theism,  charge  of,   173,  177, 

215,  362 
Trivium,  the,  1 7 
Turlot  (quoted),  1 1 3 

Universals,  problem  of,  30,  43 
University  01  Paris,  73,  74 

Vatican  Council,  the,  on  reason, 

380 
Vaughan,  Roger,  on  Abelard,  30, 

39 » 
Violence  of  the  twelfth  century, 

107,  126 
Vitalis  the  Norman,  59 

Weakness  of  Abelard,  127 
William  of  Canterbury,  63 

of  Champeaux,  25,  26,  31, 

38,41,  5^60,63,  158,  224 

of  Dijon,  16 

of  St.  Thierry,  222,  294 

Women  and  samts,  246 

disguised  as  monks,  58 

school  for,  24,  48,  115 

Works  of  Abelard,  161,  293,  302 


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literary  property  and  on  the  results  of  the  American  law  of  1891. 
Second  edition,  revised,  with  additions,  and  with  the  record  of 
legislation  brought  down  to  March,  1896.     8°,  gilt  top  .     $1  75 

"A  perfect  arsenal  of  facts  and  arguments,  carefully  elaborated  and  very 
ncctivehr  presented.  .  .  .  Altogether  it  constitutes  an  extremely  valuable 
history  of  the  development  of  a  very  intricate  right  of  property,  and  it  is  as  intcr- 
•      as  it  is  valuable."— ATrw  JVr*  iVo/iVw.  '    •— '♦ 


a.  p.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
New  Yerk:  97  Weat  ajd  Street  London:  34  Bedford  St.,  Strand 


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